SCENE III.

_A Hall in_ ANTONIO’S _House_.

_Enter_ FRANCISCA _above_.[555]

FRAN. ’Tis now my brother’s time, even much about it; For though he dissembled a whole fortnight’s absence, He comes again to-night; ’twas so agreed Before he went. I must bestir my wits now, To catch this sister of mine, and bring her name To some disgrace first, to preserve mine own: There’s profit in that cunning. She cast off My company betimes to-night by tricks and slights,[556] And I was well contented. I’m resolv’d[557] There’s no hate lost between us; for I know She does not love me now, but painfully, Like one that’s forc’d to smile upon a grief, To bring some purpose forward; and I’ll pay her In her own metal. They’re now all at rest, And Gaspar there, and all: list! fast asleep; He cries it hither: I must disease you straight, sir. For the maid-servants and the girls o’ th’ house, I spic’d them lately with a drowsy posset[558] They will not hear in haste. [_Noise within._] My brother’s come: O, where’s this key now for him? here ’tis, happily: But I must wake him first.—Why, Gaspar, Gaspar! GAS. [_within_] What a pox gasp you for? FRAN. Now I’ll throw’t down. GAS. [_within_] Who’s that call’d me now? somebody call’d Gaspar? FRAN. O, up, as thou’rt an honest fellow, Gaspar! GAS. [_within_] I shall not rise to-night then. What’s the matter? Who’s that? young mistress? FRAN. Ay; up, up, sweet Gaspar!

_Enter_ GASPARO.

My sister hath both knock’d and call’d this hour, And not a maid will stir. GAS. They’ll stir enough sometimes. FRAN. Hark, hark, again! Gaspar, O run, run, prithee! GAS. Give me leave to clothe myself. FRAN. Stand’st upon clothing In an extremity? Hark, hark again! She may be dead ere thou com’st: O, in quickly!— [_Exit_ GASPARO. He’s gone: he cannot choose but be took now, Or met in his return; that will be enough.—

_Enter_ ANTONIO.

Brother? here, take this light. ANT. My careful sister! FRAN. Look first in his own lodging ere you enter. [_Exit_ ANTONIO. ANT. [_within_] O abus’d confidence! there’s nothing of him But what betrays him more. FRAN. Then ’tis too true, brother? ANT. [_within_] I’ll make base lust a terrible example; No villany e’er paid dearer. FLO.[559] [_within_] Help! hold, sir! ANT. [_within_] I’m deaf to all humanity. FRAN. List, list! A strange and sudden silence after all: I trust has spoil’d 'em both; too dear a happiness! O how I tremble between doubts and joys! ANT. [_within_] There perish both, down to the house of falsehood, Where perjurous wedlock weeps! [_Re-entering with his sword drawn._

O perjurous woman! Sh’ad took the innocence of sleep upon her At my approach, and would not see me come; As if sh’ad lain there like a harmless soul, And never dream’d of mischief. What’s all this now? I feel no ease; the burden’s not yet off So long as the abuse sticks in my knowledge. O, ’tis a pain of hell to know one’s shame! Had it been hid and done, 't had been done happy, For he that’s ignorant lives long and merry. FRAN. I shall know all now. [_Aside._]—Brother! ANT. Come down quickly, For I must kill thee too. FRAN. Me? ANT. Stay not long: If thou desir’st to die with little pain, Make haste I’d wish thee, and come willingly; If I be forc’d to come, I shall be cruel Above a man to thee. FRAN. Why, sir!—my brother!—— ANT. Talk to thy soul, if thou wilt talk at all; To me thou’rt lost for ever. FRAN. This is fearful in you: Beyond all reason, brother, would you thus Reward me for my care and truth shewn to you? ANT. A curse upon 'em both, and thee for company! ’Tis that too diligent, thankless care of thine Makes me a murderer, and that ruinous[560] truth That lights me to the knowledge of my shame. Hadst thou been secret, then had I been happy, And had a hope, like man, of joys to come: Now here I stand a stain to my creation; And, which is heavier than all torments to me, The understanding of this base adultery; And that thou toldst me first, which thou deserv’st Death worthily for. FRAN. If that be the worst, hold, sir, Hold, brother; I can ease your knowledge[561] straight, By my soul’s hopes, I can! there’s no such thing. ANT. How? FRAN. Bless me but with life, I’ll tell you all: Your bed was never wrong’d. ANT. What? never wrong’d? FRAN. I ask but mercy as I deal with truth now: 'Twas only my deceit, my plot, and cunning, To bring disgrace upon her; by that means To keep mine own hid, which none knew but she: To speak troth, I had a child by Aberzanes, sir. ANT. How? Aberzanes? FRAN. And my mother’s letter Was counterfeited, to get time and place For my delivery. ANT. O, my wrath’s redoubled! FRAN. At my return she could speak all my folly, And blam’d me, with good counsel. I, for fear It should be made known, thus rewarded her; Wrought you into suspicion without cause, And at your coming rais’d up Gaspar suddenly, Sent him but in before you, by a falsehood, Which to your kindled jealousy I knew Would add enough: what’s now confess’d is true. ANT. The more I hear, the worse it fares with me. I ha’ kill’d 'em now for nothing; yet the shame Follows my blood still. Once more, come down: Look you, my sword goes up. [_Sheathing sword._] Call Hermio to me: Let the new man alone; he’ll wake too soon [_Exit_ FRANCISCA _above_. To find his mistress dead, and lose a service. Already the day breaks upon my guilt;

_Enter_ HERMIO.

I must be brief and sudden.—Hermio. HER. Sir? ANT. Run, knock up Aberzanes speedily; Say I desire his company this morning To yonder horse-race, tell him; that will fetch him: O, hark you, by the way—— [_Whispers._ HER. Yes, sir. ANT. Use speed now, Or I will ne’er use thee more; and, perhaps, I speak in a right hour. My grief o’erflows; I must in private go and vent my woes. [_Exeunt._