SCENE II.--CARTER’S _House_.

_Enter_ CARTER, WARBECK, _and_ SOMERTON.

_Car._ How now, gentlemen! cloudy? I know, Master Warbeck, you are in a fog about my daughter’s marriage.

_War._ And can you blame me, sir?

_Car._ Nor you me justly. Wedding and hanging are tied up both in a proverb; and destiny is the juggler that unties the knot. My hope is, you are reserved to a richer fortune than my poor daughter.

_War._ However, your promise--

_Car._ Is a kind of debt, I confess it.

_War._ Which honest men should pay.

_Car._ Yet some gentlemen break in that point now and then, by your leave, sir.

_Som._ I confess thou hast had a little wrong in the wench; but patience is the only salve to cure it. Since Thorney has won the wench, he has most reason to wear her.

_War._ Love in this kind admits no reason to wear her.

_Car._ Then Love’s a fool, and what wise man will take exception?

_Som._ Come, frolic, Ned: were every man master of his own fortune, Fate might pick straws, and Destiny go a-wool-gathering.

_War._ You hold yours in a string, though: ’tis well; but if there be any equity, look thou to meet the like usage ere long.

_Som._ In my love to her sister Katherine? Indeed, they are a pair of arrows drawn out of one quiver, and should fly at an even length; if she do run after her sister.--

_War._ Look for the same mercy at my hands as I have received at thine.

_Som._ She’ll keep a surer compass; I have too strong a confidence to mistrust her.

_War._ And that confidence is a wind that has blown many a married man ashore at Cuckold’s Haven, I can tell you; I wish yours more prosperous though.

_Car._ Whate’er your wish, I’ll master my promise to him.

_War._ Yes, as you did to me.

_Car._ No more of that, if you love me: but for the more assurance, the next offered occasion shall consummate the marriage; and that once sealed--

_Som._ Leave the manage of the rest to my care. But see, the bridegroom and bride come; the new pair of Sheffield knives, fitted both to one sheath.

_War._ The sheath might have been better fitted, if somebody had their due; but--

_Car._ No harsh language, if thou lovest me. Frank Thorney has done--

_War._ No more than I, or thou, or any man, things so standing, would have attempted.

_Enter_ FRANK THORNEY _and_ SUSAN.

_Som._ Good-morrow, Master Bridegroom.

_War._ Come, give thee joy: mayst thou live long and happy In thy fair choice!

_Frank._ I thank ye, gentlemen; kind Master Warbeck, I find you loving.

_War._ Thorney, that creature,--much good do thee with her!-- Virtue and beauty hold fair mixture in her; She’s rich, no doubt, in both: yet were she fairer, Thou art right worthy of her. Love her, Thorney; ’Tis nobleness in thee, in her but duty. The match is fair and equal; the success I leave to censure. Farewell, Mistress Bride! Till now elected, thy old scorn deride. [_Exit._

_Som._ Good Master Thorney--

_Car._ Nay, you shall not part till you see the barrels run a-tilt, gentlemen. [_Exit with_ SOMERTON.

_Sus._ Why change you your face, sweetheart?

_Frank._ Who, I? for nothing.

_Sus._ Dear, say not so; a spirit of your constancy Cannot endure this change for nothing. I have observed strange variations in you.

_Frank._ In me?

_Sus._ In you, sir. Awake, you seem to dream, and in your sleep You utter sudden and distracted accents, Like one at enmity with peace. Dear loving husband, If I May dare to challenge any interest in you, Give me the reason fully; you may trust My breast as safely as your own.

_Frank._ With what? You half amaze me; prithee--

_Sus._ Come, you shall not, Indeed you shall not, shut me from partaking The least dislike that grieves you; I’m all yours.

_Frank._ And I all thine.

_Sus._ You are not, if you keep The least grief from me: but I find the cause; It grew from me.

_Frank._ From you?

_Sus._ From some distaste In me or my behaviour: you’re not kind In the concealment. ’Las, sir, I am young, Silly and plain; more, strange to those contents A wife should offer: say but in what I fail, I’ll study satisfaction.

_Frank._ Come; in nothing.

_Sus._ I know I do; knew I as well in what, You should not long be sullen. Prithee, love, If I have been immodest or too bold, Speak’t in a frown; if peevishly too nice, Show’t in a smile: thy liking is the glass By which I’ll habit my behaviour.

_Frank._ Wherefore dost weep now?

_Sus._ You, sweet, have the power To make me passionate as an April-day; Now smile, then weep; now pale, then crimson red: You are the powerful moon of my blood’s sea, To make it ebb or flow into my face, As your looks change.

_Frank._ Change thy conceit, I prithee; Thou art all perfection: Diana herself Swells in thy thoughts and moderates thy beauty. Within thy left eye amorous Cupid sits, Feathering love-shafts, whose golden heads he dipped In[430] thy chaste breast; in the other lies Blushing Adonis scarfed in modesties; And still as wanton Cupid blows love-fires, Adonis quenches out unchaste desires; And from these two I briefly do imply A perfect emblem of thy modesty. Then, prithee, dear, maintain no more dispute, For when thou speak’st, it’s fit all tongues be mute.

[430] There is a break here in the quarto. It is suggested that the printer was unable to decipher the first word of the line in the manuscript.

_Sus._ Come, come, these golden strings of flattery Shall not tie up my speech, sir; I must know The ground of your disturbance.

_Frank._ Then look here; For here, here is the fen in which this hydra Of discontent grows rank.

_Sus._ Heaven shield it! where?

_Frank._ In mine own bosom, here the cause has root; The poisoned leeches twist about my heart, And will, I hope, confound me.

_Sus._ You speak riddles.

_Frank._ Take’t plainly, then: ’twas told me by a woman Known and approved in palmistry, I should have two wives.

_Sus._ Two wives? sir, I take it Exceeding likely; but let not conceit hurt you: You’re afraid to bury me?

_Frank._ No, no, my Winnifred.

_Sus._ How say you? Winnifred! you forget me.

_Frank._ No, I forget myself!--Susan.

_Sus._ In what?

_Frank._ Talking of wives, I pretend Winnifred, A maid that at my mother’s waited on me Before thyself.

_Sus._ I hope, sir, she may live To take my place: but why should all this move you?

_Frank._ The poor girl!--[_Aside.]_ she has’t before thee, And that’s the fiend torments me.

_Sus._ Yet why should this Raise mutiny within you? such presages Prove often false: or say it should be true?

_Frank._ That I should have another wife?

_Sus._ Yes, many; If they be good, the better.

_Frank._ Never any Equal to thee in goodness.

_Sus._ Sir, I could wish I were much better for you; Yet if I knew your fate Ordained you for another, I could wish-- So well I love you and your hopeful pleasure-- Me in my grave, and my poor virtues added To my successor.

_Frank._ Prithee, prithee, talk not Of deaths or graves; thou art so rare a goodness As Death would rather put itself to death Than murder thee: but we, as all things else, Are mutable and changing.

_Sus._ Yet you still move In your first sphere of discontent. Sweet, chase Those clouds of sorrow, and shine clearly on me.

_Frank._ At my return I will.

_Sus._ Return! ah me! Will you, then, leave me?

_Frank._ For a time I must: But how? As birds their young, or loving bees Their hives, to fetch home richer dainties.

_Sus._ Leave me! Now has my fear met its effect. You shall not; Cost it my life, you shall not.

_Frank._ Why? your reason?

_Sus._ Like to the lapwing have you all this while With your false love deluded me, pretending Counterfeit senses for your discontent; And now at last it is by chance stole from you.

_Frank._ What? what by chance?

_Sus._ Your pre-appointed meeting Of single combat with young Warbeck.

_Frank._ Ha!

_Sus._ Even so: dissemble not; ’tis too apparent: Then in his look I read it:--deny it not, I see’t apparent; cost it my undoing, And unto that my life, I will not leave you.

_Frank._ Not until when?

_Sus._ Till he and you be friends. Was this your cunning?--and then flam me off With an old witch, two wives, and Winnifred! You’re not so kind, indeed, as I imagined.

_Frank._ [_Aside._] And you are more fond by far than I expected.-- It is a virtue that attends thy kind-- But of our business within: and by this kiss, I’ll anger thee no more; ’troth, chuck, I will not.

_Sus._ You shall have no just cause.

_Frank._ Dear Sue, I shall not. [_Exeunt._

ACT THE THIRD.