SCENE II. _A Bedroom in_ CARTER’S _House. A bed thrust forth,

with_ FRANK _in a slumber._

_Enter_ KATHERINE.

_Kath._ Brother, brother! so sound asleep? that’s well.

_Frank._ [_Waking._] No, not I, sister; he that’s wounded here As I am--all my other hurts are bitings Of a poor flea;--but he that here once bleeds Is maimed incurably.

_Kath._ My good sweet brother,-- For now my sister must grow up in you,-- Though her loss strikes you through, and that I feel The blow as deep, I pray thee be not cruel To kill me too, by seeing you cast away In your own helpless sorrow. Good love, sit up; And if you can give physic to yourself, I shall be well.

_Frank._ I’ll do my best.

_Kath._ I thank you; What do you look about for?

_Frank._ Nothing, nothing; But I was thinking, sister,--

_Kath._ Dear heart, what?

_Frank._ Who but a fool would thus be bound to a bed, Having this room to walk in?

_Kath._ Why do you talk so? Would you were fast asleep!

_Frank._ No, no; I’m not idle.[453] But here’s my meaning; being robbed as I am, Why should my soul, which married was to hers, Live in divorce, and not fly after her? Why should I not walk hand in hand with Death, To find my love out?

[453] _i.e._ Wandering.

_Kath._ That were well indeed, Your time being come; when Death is sent to call you, No doubt you shall meet her.

_Frank._ Why should not I Go without calling?

_Kath._ Yes, brother, so you might, Were there no place to go when you’re gone But only this.

_Frank._ ’Troth, sister, thou say’st true; For when a man has been an hundred years Hard travelling o’er the tottering bridge of age, He’s not the thousand part upon his way: All life is but a wandering to find home; When we’re gone, we’re there. Happy were man, Could here his voyage end; he should not, then, Answer how well or ill he steered his soul By Heaven’s or by Hell’s compass; how he put in-- Losing blessed goodness’ shore--at such a sin; Nor how life’s dear provision he has spent, Nor how far he in’s navigation went Beyond commission: this were a fine reign, To do ill and not hear of it again; Yet then were man more wretched than a beast; For, sister, our dead pay is sure the best.

_Kath._ ’Tis so, the best or worst; and I wish Heaven To pay--and so I know it will--that traitor, That devil Somerton--who stood in mine eye Once as an angel--home to his deservings: What villain but himself, once loving me, With Warbeck’s soul would pawn his own to hell To be revenged on my poor sister!

_Frank._ Slaves! A pair of merciless slaves! speak no more of them.

_Kath._ I think this talking hurts you.

_Frank._ Does me no good, I’m sure; I pay for’t everywhere.

_Kath._ I have done, then. Eat, if you cannot sleep; you have these two days Not tasted any food.--Jane, is it ready?

_Frank._ What’s ready? what’s ready?

_Kath._ I have made ready a roasted chicken for you:

_Enter ~Maid~ with chicken._

Sweet, wilt thou eat?

_Frank._ A pretty stomach on a sudden; yes.-- There’s one in the house can play upon a lute; Good girl, let’s hear him too.

_Kath._ You shall, dear brother. [_Exit ~Maid~._ Would I were a musician, you should hear How I would feast your ear! [_Lute plays within_]--stay mend your pillow, And raise you higher.

_Frank._ I am up too high, Am I not, sister now?

_Kath._ No, no; ’tis well. Fall-to, fall-to.--A knife! here’s never a knife. Brother, I’ll look out yours. [_Takes up his vest._

_Enter the ~Dog~, shrugging as it were for joy, and dances._

_Frank._ Sister, O, sister, I’m ill upon a sudden, and can eat nothing.

_Kath._ In very deed you shall: the want of food Makes you so faint, Ha! [_Sees the bloody knife_]--here’s none in your pocket; I’ll go fetch a knife. [_Exit hastily._

_Frank._ Will you?--’tis well, all’s well.

FRANK _searches first one pocket, then the other, finds the knife, and then lies down.--The ~Dog~ runs off.--The spirit of_ SUSAN _comes to the bed’s side_; FRANK _stares at it, and then turns to the other side, but the spirit is there too. Meanwhile enter_ WINNIFRED _as a page, and stands sadly at the bed’s foot_.--FRANK _affrighted sits up. The spirit vanishes._

_Frank._ What art thou?

_Win._ A lost creature.

_Frank._ So am I too.--Win? Ah, my she-page!

_Win._ For your sake I put on A shape that’s false; yet do I wear a heart True to you as your own.

_Frank._ Would mine and thine Were fellows in one house!--Kneel by me here. On this side now! how dar’st thou come to mock me On both sides of my bed?

_Win._ When?

_Frank._ But just now: Outface me, stare upon me with strange postures, Turn my soul wild by a face in which were drawn A thousand ghosts leapt newly from their graves To pluck me into a winding-sheet!

_Win._ Believe it, I came no nearer to you than yon place At your bed’s feet; and of the house had leave, Calling myself your horse-boy, in to come, And visit my sick master.

_Frank._ Then ’twas my fancy; Some windmill in my brains for want of sleep.

_Win._ Would I might never sleep, so you could rest! But you have plucked a thunder on your head, Whose noise cannot cease suddenly: why should you Dance at the wedding of a second wife, When scarce the music which you heard at mine Had ta’en a farewell of you? O, this was ill! And they who thus can give both hands away In th’ end shall want their best limbs.

_Frank._ Winnifred,-- The chamber-door’s fast?

_Win._ Yes.

_Frank._ Sit thee, then, down; And when thou’st heard me speak, melt into tears: Yet I, to save those eyes of thine from weeping, Being to write a story of us two. Instead of ink dipped my sad pen in blood. When of thee I took leave, I went abroad Only for pillage, as a freebooter, What gold soe’er I got to make it thine. To please a father I have Heaven displeased; Striving to cast two wedding-rings in one, Through my bad workmanship I now have none; I have lost her and thee.

_Win._ I know she’s dead; But you have me still.

_Frank._ Nay, her this hand Murdered; and so I lose thee too.

_Win._ O me!

_Frank._ Be quiet; for thou my evidence art, Jury, and judge: sit quiet, and I’ll tell all.

_While they are conversing in a low tone, enter at one door_ CARTER and KATHERINE, _at the other the ~Dog~, pawing softly at_ FRANK.

_Kath._ I have run madding up and down to find you, Being laden with the heaviest news that ever Poor daughter carried.

_Car._ Why? is the boy dead?

_Kath._ Dead, sir! O, father, we are cozened: you are told The murderer sings in prison, and he laughs here. This villain killed my sister see else, see,

[_Takes up his vest, and shows the knife to her father, who secures it._

A bloody knife in’s pocket!

_Car._ Bless me, patience!

_Frank._ [_Seeing them._] The knife, the knife, the knife!

_Kath._ What knife? [_Exit the ~Dog~._

_Frank._ To cut my chicken up, my chicken; Be you my carver, father.

_Car._ That I will.

_Kath._ How the devil steels our brows after doing ill!

_Frank._ My stomach and my sight are taken from me; All is not well within me.

_Car._ I believe thee, boy; I that have seen so many moons clap their horns on other men’s foreheads to strike them sick, yet mine to scape and be well; I that never cast away a fee upon urinals, but am as sound as an honest man’s conscience when he’s dying; I should cry out as thou dost, “All is not well within me,” felt I but the bag of thy imposthumes. Ah, poor villain! ah, my wounded rascal! all my grief is, I have now small hope of thee.

_Frank._ Do the surgeons say my wounds are dangerous, then?

_Car._ Yes, yes, and there’s no way with thee but one.

_Frank._ Would he were here to open them!

_Car._ I’ll go to fetch him; I’ll make an holiday to see thee as I wish.

_Frank._ A wondrous kind old man!

_Win._ [_Aside to_ FRANK.] Your sin’s the blacker So to abuse his goodness.--[_Aloud_] Master, how do you?

_Frank._ Pretty well now, boy; I have such odd qualms Come cross my stomach.--I’ll fall-to; boy, cut me--

_Win._ [_Aside._] You have cut me, I’m sure;--A leg or wing, sir?

_Frank._ No, no, no; a wing-- [_Aside._] Would I had wings but to soar up yon tower! But here’s a clog that hinders me.

_Re-enter_ CARTER, _with ~Servants~ bearing the body of_ SUSAN _in a coffin_.

What’s that?

_Car._ That! what? O, now I see her; ’tis a young wench, my daughter, sirrah, sick to the death; and hearing thee to be an excellent rascal for letting blood, she looks out at a casement, and cries, “Help, help! stay that man! him I must have or none.”

_Frank._ For pity’s sake, remove her: see, she stares With one broad open eye still in my face!

_Car._ Thou putted’st both hers out, like a villain as thou art; yet, see! she is willing to lend thee one again to find out the murderer, and that’s thyself.

_Frank._ Old man, thou liest!

_Car._ So shalt thou--in the gaol.-- Run for officers.

_Kath._ O, thou merciless slave! She was--though yet above ground--in her grave To me; but thou hast torn it up again-- Mine eyes, too much drowned, now must feel more rain.

_Car._ Fetch officers.

[_Exit_ KATHERINE _and ~Servants~ with the body of_ SUSAN.

_Frank._ For whom?

_Car._ For thee, sirrah, sirrah! Some knives have foolish posies upon them, but thine has a villainous one; look! [_Showing the bloody knife._] O, it is enamelled with the heart-blood of thy hated wife, my belovèd daughter! What sayest thou to this evidence? is’t not sharp? does’t not strike home? Thou canst not answer honestly and without a trembling heart to this one point, this terrible bloody point.

_Win._ I beseech you, sir, Strike him no more; you see he’s dead already.

_Car._ O, sir, you held his horses; you are as arrant a rogue as he: up go you too.

_Frank._ As you’re a man, throw not upon that woman Your loads of tyranny, for she is innocent.

_Car._ How! how! a woman! Is’t grown to a fashion for women in all countries to wear the breeches?

_Win._ I’m not as my disguise speaks me, sir, his page, But his first, only wife, his lawful wife.

_Car._ How! how! more fire i’ th’ bed-straw![454]

[454] A proverbial expression for more concealed mischief.--_Gifford._

_Win._ The wrongs which singly fell upon your daughter On me are multiplied; she lost a life, But I an husband, and myself must lose If you call him to a bar for what he has done.

_Car._ He has done it, then?

_Win._ Yes, ’tis confessed to me.

_Frank._ Dost thou betray me?

_Win._ O, pardon me, dear heart! I’m mad to lose thee, And know not what I speak; but if thou didst, I must arraign this father for two sins, Adultery and murder.

_Re-enter_ KATHERINE.

_Kath._ Sir, they are come.

_Car._ Arraign me for what thou wilt, all Middlesex knows me better for an honest man than the middle of a market-place knows thee for an honest woman.--Rise, sirrah, and don your tacklings; rig yourself for the gallows, or I’ll carry thee thither on my back: your trull shall to the gaol go with you: there be as fine Newgate birds as she that can draw him in: pox on’s wounds!

_Frank._ I have served thee, and my wages now are paid; Yet my worse punishment shall, I hope, be stayed. [_Exeunt._

ACT THE FIFTH.