SCENE I.

_Franceschina's lodging._

_Enter_ FRANCESCHINA, Sir _LIONEL_, TYSEFEW, _with Officers_.

_Fra._ You bin very velcom to mine shambra.

_Sir Lio._ But, how know ye, how are ye assured, Both of the deed, and of his sure return?

_Fra._ O min-here, ick sall tell you. Metre Malheureux came all bretless running a my shambra, his sword all bloudy: he tel a me he had kil Freevill, and pred a me to conceal him. Ick flatter him, bid bring monies, he should live and lie vid me. He went, whilst ick (me hope vidout sins), out of mine mush love to Freevill, betray him. 10

_Sir Lio._ Fear not, 'tis well: good works get grace for sin.

[_She conceals them behind the curtain._

_Fra._ Dere, peace, rest dere; so, softly, all go in.-- De net is lay, now sal ick be revenge. If dat me knew a dog dat Freevill love, Me would puisson him; for know de deepest hell As a revenging woman's naught so fell.

_Enter_ MARY FAUGH.

_Mar._ Ho! Cousin Frank, the party you wot of, Master Malheureux--

_Fra._ Bid him come up, I prede.

[_Cantat saltatque cum cithara._

_Enter_ MALHEUREUX.

_Fra._ O min-here man, a dere liver love, 20 Mine ten tousant times velcom love! Ha! by mine trat, you bin de just--vat sall me say? Vat seet honie name sall I call you?

_Mal._ Any from you Is pleasure. Come, my loving prettiness, Where's thy chamber? I long to touch your sheets.

_Fra._ No, no, not yet, mine seetest soft-lipp'd love, You sall not gulp down all delights at once. Be min trat, dis all-fles-lovers, dis ravenous wenchers[91] dat sallow all down hole, vill have all at one bit; fie, fie, fie! be min fait, dey do eat comfets vid spoons. 31 No, no, I'll make you chew your pleasure vit love; De more degrees and steps, de more delight, De more endearèd is de pleasure height.

_Mal._ What, you're a learn'd wanton, and proceed by art?

_Fra._ Go, little vag, pleasure should have a crane's long neck, to relish de ambrosia of delight. And ick pre de tell me, for me loves to hear of manhood very mush, i'fait: ick prede--vat vas me a saying? Oh, ick prede tell a me how did you killa Metre Freevill? 40

_Mal._ Why, quarrelled o' set purpose, drew him out, Singled him, and, having the advantage Of my sword and might, ran him through and through.

_Fra._ Vat did you vid him van he was sticken?

_Mal._ I dragg'd him by the heels to the next wharf, And spurn'd him in the river.

[_Those in ambush rusheth forth and take him._

_Sir Lio._ Seize, seize him! O monstrous! O ruthless villain!

_Mal._ What mean you, gentlemen? By heaven----

_Tyse._ Speak not of anything that's good. 49

_Mal._ Your errors gives you passion: Freevill lives.

_Sir Lio._ Thy own lips say thou liest.

_Mal._ Let me die, if at Shatewe's the jeweller he lives not safe untouch'd.

_Tyse._ Meantime to strictest guard, to sharpest prison.

_Mal._ No rudeness, gentlemen: I'll go undragg'd. O, wicked, wicked devil!

[_Exit._

_Sir Lio._ Sir, the day of trial is this morn; let's prosecute The sharpest rigour and severest end: Good men are cruel when they're vice's friend.

_Sir Hub._ Woman, we thank thee with no empty hand; Strumpets are fit[92] for something. Farewell. 61

[_All save_ Young FREEVILL _depart_.

_Free._ Ay, for hell! O, thou unreprievable, beyond all Measure of grace damn'd irremediably![93] That things of beauty created for sweet use, Soft comfort, as[94] the very music of life, Custom should make so unutterably[95] hellish! O, heaven! What difference is in women and their life! What man, but worthy name of man, would leave 70 The modest pleasures of a lawful bed-- The holy union of two equal hearts Mutually holding either dear as health-- Th' undoubted issues, joys of chaste sheets, Th' unfeign'd embrace of sober ignorance-- To twine th' unhealthful loins of common loves, The prostituted impudence of things, Senseless like those by cataracts of Nile, Their use so vile takes away sense! How vile To love a creature made of blood and hell, 80 Whose use makes weak, whose company doth shame, Whose bed doth beggar, issue doth defame!

_Re-enter_ FRANCESCHINA.

_Fra._ Metre Freevill live? ha, ha, live at Mestre Shatewe's! Mush[96] at Metre Shatewe's! Freevill is dead, Malheureux sall hang: and, sweet divel, dat Beatrice would but run mad, dat she would but run mad! den me would dance and sing. Metre Don Dubon, me pre ye now go to Mestres Beatrice. Tell her Freevill is sure dead, and dat he curse herself especially, for dat he was sticked in her quarrel, swearing in his last gasp, dat if it had bin in mine quarrels 'twould never have grieved him.

_Free._ I will. 92

_Fra._ Prede do, and say any ting dat vil vex her.

_Free._ Let me alone to vex her.

_Fra._ Vil you, vil you mak a her run mad? Here, take dis ring, see me scorn to wear anyting dat was hers or his. I prede torment her, ick cannot love her; she honest and virtuous, forsooth!

_Free._ Is she so? O vile creature! then let me alone with her. 100

_Fra._ Vat, vil you mak a her mad? seet, by min trat, be pretta servan; bush,[97] ick sall go to bet now.

[_Exit._

_Free._ Mischief, whither wilt thou? O thou tearless woman! How monstrous is thy devil, The end of hell as thee! How miserable were it to be virtuous, If thou couldst prosper! I'll to my love, the faithful Beatrice; She has wept enough, and faith, dear soul, too much. But yet how sweet is it to think how dear 110 One's life was to his love: how mourn'd his death! 'Tis joy not to be express'd with breath: But O let him that would such passion drink, Be quiet of his speech, and only think!

[_Exit._

[91] Old eds. "wenches."

[92] Ed. 1. "fit, fit."

[93] Old eds. "immediatlie."

[94] Ed. 1. "and as."

[95] Ed. 2. "vnutterable."

[96] Ironical exclamation.

[97] _i.e._, buss (kiss).