SCENE II.

_A room in_ YELLOWHAMMER’S _house_.

_Enter_ YELLOWHAMMER _and_ MAUDLIN.

MAUD. O husband, husband, she will die, she will die! There is no sign but death. YEL. ’Twill be our shame then. MAUD. O, how she’s chang’d in compass of an hour! YEL. Ah, my poor girl! good faith, thou wert too cruel To drag her by the hair. MAUD. You’d have done as much, sir, To curb her of her humour. YEL. ’Tis curb’d sweetly; She catch’d her bane o' th' water.

_Enter_ TIM.

MAUD. How now, Tim? TIM. Faith, busy, mother, about an epitaph Upon my sister’s death. MAUD. Death? she’s not dead, I hope? TIM. No, but she means to be, and that’s as good, And when a thing’s done, ’tis done; you taught me[149] that, mother. YEL. What is your tutor doing? TIM. Making one too, in principal pure Latin, Cull’d out of Ovid[150] _de Tristibus_. YEL. How does your sister look? is she not chang’d? TIM. Chang’d? gold into white money was ne’er so chang’d As is my sister’s colour into paleness.

_Enter_ MOLL, _led in by Servants, who place her in a chair_.

YEL. O, here she’s brought; see how she looks like death! TIM. Looks she like death, and ne’er a word made yet? I must go beat my brains against a bed-post, And get before my tutor. [_Exit._ YEL. Speak, how dost thou? MOL. I hope I shall be well, for I'm as sick At heart as I can be. YEL. ’Las, my poor girl! The doctor’s making a most sovereign drink for thee, The worst ingredience dissolv’d pearl and amber; We spare no cost, girl. MOLL. Your love comes too late, Yet timely thanks reward it. What is comfort, When the poor patient’s heart is past relief? It is no doctor’s art can cure my grief. YEL. All is cast away, then; [I] prithee, look upon me cheerfully. MAUD. Sing but a strain or two; thou wilt not think How ’twill revive thy spirits: strive with thy fit, Prithee, sweet Moll. MOLL. You shall have my good will, mother. MAUD. Why, well said, wench. MOLL. [_sings_]

_Weep eyes, break heart! My love and I must part. Cruel fates true love do soonest sever: O, I shall see thee never, never, never! O, happy is the maid whose life takes end Ere it knows parent’s frown or loss of friend! Weep eyes, break heart! My love and I must part._

MAUD. O, I could die with music!—Well sung, girl. MOLL. If you call’t so, it was. YEL. She plays the swan, And sings herself to death.

_Enter_ TOUCHWOOD _senior_.

TOUCH. SEN. By your leave, sir. YEL. What are you, sir? or what’s your business, pray? TOUCH. SEN. I may be now admitted, though the brother Of him your hate pursu’d: it spreads no further; Your malice sets in death, does it not, sir? YEL. In death? TOUCH. SEN. He’s dead: ’twas a dear love to him, It cost him but his life, that was all, sir; He paid enough, poor gentleman, for his love. YEL. There’s all our ill remov’d, if she were well now.— [_Aside._ Impute not, sir, his end to any hate That sprung from us; he had a fair wound brought that. TOUCH. SEN. That help’d him forward, I must needs confess; But the restraint of love, and your unkindness, Those were the wounds that from his heart drew blood; But being past help, let words forget it too: Scarcely three minutes ere his eyelids clos’d, And took eternal leave of this world’s light, He wrote this letter, which by oath he bound me To give to her own hands; that’s all my business. YEL. You may perform it then; there she sits. TOUCH. SEN. O, with a following look! YEL. Ay, trust me, sir, I think she’ll follow him quickly. TOUCH. SEN. Here’s some gold He will’d me to distribute faithfully Amongst your servants. [_Gives gold to Servants._ YEL. ’Las, what doth he mean, sir? TOUCH. SEN. How cheer you, mistress? MOLL. I must learn of you, sir. TOUCH. SEN. Here is a letter from a friend of yours, [_Giving letter to_ MOLL. And where that fails in satisfaction, I have a sad tongue ready to supply. MOLL. How does he, ere I look on’t? TOUCH. SEN. Seldom better; Has a contented health now. MOLL. I'm most glad on’t. MAUD. Dead, sir? YEL. He is: now, wife, let’s but get the girl Upon her legs again, and to church roundly with her. MOLL. O, sick to death, he tells me: how does he after this? TOUCH. SEN. Faith, feels no pain at all; he’s dead, sweet mistress. MOLL. Peace close mine eyes! [_Swoons._ YEL. The girl! look to the girl, wife! MAUD. Moll, daughter, sweet girl, speak! look but once up, Thou shalt have all the wishes of thy heart That wealth can purchase! YEL. O, she’s gone for ever! That letter broke her heart. TOUCH. SEN. As good now then As let her lie in torment, and then break it.

_Enter_ SUSAN.

MAUD. O Susan, she thou loved’st so dear is gone! SUSAN. O sweet maid! TOUCH. SEN. This is she that help’d her still.— I've a reward here for thee. YEL. Take her in, Remove her from our sight, our shame and sorrow. TOUCH. SEN. Stay, let me help thee, ’tis the last cold kindness I can perform for my sweet brother’s sake. [_Exeunt_ TOUCHWOOD _senior_, SUSAN, _and Servants, carrying out_ MOLL. YEL. All the whole street will hate us, and the world Point me out cruel: it’s our best course, wife, After we’ve given order for the funeral, T' absent ourselves till she be laid in ground. MAUD. Where shall we spend that time? YEL. I'll tell thee where, wench: Go to some private church, and marry Tim To the rich Brecknock gentlewoman. MAUD. Mass, a match; We’ll not lose all at once, somewhat we’ll catch. [_Exeunt._