A Woman Killed with Kindness Woman Killed with Kindness A EMOTHE0369

Source text for this digital edition:
Lawrence, Robert, ed. A Woman Killled with Kindness. By Thomas Heywood. In: Early Seventeenth Century Drama. London: Dent ; New York: Dutton, 1963, pp. 77-140. Everyman’s Library, no. 390.

Digital text editor for EMOTHE:

Monrós Gaspar, Laura

Note on this digital edition

Text reproduced with kind permission by Joan Lawrence.

Line numbers in this digital edition do not always coincide with those in the source edition. Speech prefixes have been expanded.

With the support of research project GVAICO2016-094, funded by Generalitat Valenciana (2016-2017).

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[Dramatis Personae

Sir Francis Acton brother to Mistress Anne Frankford

Charles Mountford

Master John Frankford newly married to Mistress Anne

Master Malby friend to Acton

Master Wendoll }

Master Cranwell }friends to Frankford

Master Shafton false friend to Mountford

Old Mountford uncle to Mountford

Master Sandy

Master Roder

Master Tidy

Nicholas }

Jenkin }

Spigot the butler }

Roger Brickbat }

Jack Slime } servants to Frankford

Sheriff

Keeper of the prison

Mistress Anne Frankford

Susan Mountford sister to Sir Charles

Cicely maid to Mistress Anne

Falconers, huntsmen, officers, servants, musicians

Rural Yorkshire ]

I come but as a harbinger, being sent

To tell you what these preparations mean.

Look for no glorious state; our Muse is bent

Upon a barren subject, a bare scene.

We could afford this twig a timber tree,

Whose strength might boldly on your favours build;

Our russet, tissue; drone, a honey-bee;

Our barren plot, a large and spacious field;

Our coarse fare, banquets; our thin water, wine;

Our brook, a sea; our bat’s eyes, eagle’s sight;

Our poet's full and earthly Muse, divine;

Our ravens, doves; our crow’s black feathers, white;

But gentle thoughts, when they may give the foil,

Save them that yield, and spare where they may spoil.

[Act I. Scene I]

[Frankford’s house]

Enter Master John Frankford, Mistress Anne, Sir Francis Acton, Sir Charles Mountford, Master Malby, Master Wendoll, and Master Cranwell

Francis

Some music there! None lead the bride a dance?

Charles

Yes, would she dance ‘The Shaking of the Sheets’,

But that’s a dance her husband means to lead her.

Wendoll

That’s not the dance that every man must dance,

According to the ballad.

Francis

Music, ho!

By your leave, sister; by your husband's leave,

I should have said. The hand that but this day

Was given you in the church I’ll borrow. Sound!

This marriage music hoists me from the ground.

Frankford

Ay, you may caper, you are light and free;

Marriage hath yok’d my heels; pray, pardon me.

Francis

I’ll have you dance too, brother.

Charles

Master Frankford,

Y’are a happy man, sir, and much joy

Succeed your marriage mirth. You have a wife

So qualified, and wit such ornaments

Both of mind and body; first, her birth

Is noble, and her education such

As might become the daughter of a prince;

Her own tongue speaks all tongues, and her own hand

Can reach all strings to speak in their best grace,

From the shrill’st treble to the hoarsest bass.

To end her many praises in one word,

She’s Beauty and Perfection’s eldest daughter,

Only found by yours, though many a heart hath sought her.

Frankford

But that I know your virtues and chaste thoughts,

I should be jealous of your praise, Sir Charles.

Cranwell

He speaks no more than you approve.

Malby

Nor flatters he that gives to her her due.

Anne

I would your praise could find a fitter theme

Than my imperfect beauties to speak on;

Such as they be, if they my husband please,

They suffice me now I am married.

His sweet content is like a flatt’ring glass,

To make my face seem fairer to mine eye;

But the least wrinkle from his stormy brow

Will blast the roses in my cheeks that grow.

Francis

A perfect wife already, meek and patient.

How strangely the word husband fits your mouth,

Not married three hours since. Sister, ‘tis good;

You that begin betimes thus must needs prove

Pliant and duteous in your husband’s love.

Gramercies, brother! Wrought her to’t already?—

‘Sweet husband,’ and a curtsy the first day!

Mark this, mark this, you that are bachelors,

And never took the grace of honest man,

Mark this, against you marry, this one phrase:

In good time that man both wins and woos

That takes his wife down in her wedding shoes.

Frankford

Your sister takes not after you, Sir Francis;

All his wild blood your father spent on you;

He got her in his age, when he grew civil.

All his mad tricks were to his land entail’d,

And you are heir to all; your sister, she

Hath to her dower her mother’s modesty.

Charles

Lord, sir, in what a happy state live you!

This morning, which to many seems a burden,

Too heavy to bear, is unto you a pleasure.

This lady is no clog, as many are;

She doth become you like a well-made suit,

In which the tailor hath us’d all his art;

Not like a thick coat of unseason’d frieze,

Forc’d on your back in summer. She’s no chain

To tie your neck and curb ye to the yoke;

But she’s a chain of gold to adorn your neck;

You both adorn each other, and your hands,

Methinks, are matches. There’s equality

In this fair combination; y’are both scholars,

Both young, both being descended nobly.

There’s music in this sympathy; it carries

Consort and expectation of much joy,

Which God bestow on you from this first day

Until your dissolution—that’s for aye.

Francis

We keep you here too long, good brother Frankford.

Into the hall; away! Go cheer your guests.

What, bride and bridegroom both withdrawn at once?

If you be miss’d, the guests will doubt their welcome,

And charge you with unkindness.

Frankford

To prevent it,

I’ll leave you here, to see the dance within.

Anne

And so will I.

Exeunt Anne and Frankford.

Francis

To part you it were sin.

Now, gallants, while the town musicians

Finger their frets within, and the mad lads

And country lasses, every mother’s child,

With nosegays and bride-laces in their hats,

Dance all their country measures, rounds, and jigs,

What shall we do? Hark, they’re all on the hoigh;

They toil like mill-horses, and turn as round;

Marry, not on the toe. Ay, and they caper,

Not without cutting. You shall see tomorrow

The hall floor peck’d and dinted like a millstone,

Made by their high shoes; though their skill be small,

Yet they tread heavy where their hobnails fall.

Charles

Well, leave them to their sports. Sir Francis Acton,

I’ll make a match with you: Meet tomorrow

At Chevy Chase; I’ll fly my hawk with yours.

Francis

For what? For what?

Charles

Why, for a hundred pound.

Francis

Pawn me some gold of that.

Charles

Here are ten angels;

I’ll make them good a hundred pound tomorrow

Upon my hawk’s wing.

Francis

‘Tis a match, ‘tis done;

Another hundred pound upon your dogs—

100

Dare ye, Sir Charles?

Charles

I dare; were I sure to lose,

101

I durst do more than that. Here’s my hand:

102

The first course for a hundred pound.

Francis

A match.

Wendoll

103

Ten angels on Sir Francis Acton's hawk;

104

As much upon his dogs!

Cranwell

105

I am for Sir Charles Mountford; I have seen

106

His hawk and dog both tried. What, clap ye hands,

107

Or is’t no bargain?

Wendoll

Yes, and stake them down.

108

Were they five hundred, they were all my own.

Francis

109

Be stirring early with the lark tomorrow;

110

I’ll rise into my saddle ere the sun

111

Rise from his bed.

Charles

If there you miss me, say

112

I am no gentleman. I’ll hold my day.

Francis

113

It holds on all sides. Come, tonight let’s dance;

114

Early tomorrow let’s prepare to ride.

115

We had need be three hours up before the bride.

Exeunt.

[Act I. Scene 2]

[The yard at Frankford’s house]

Enter Nick, Jenkin, Jack Slime, Roger Brickbat, Cicely, other country wenches, and two or three musicians

Jenkin

1Come, Nick, take you Joan Miniver, to trace withal; 2Jack Slime, traverse you with Cicely Milkpail; I will take 3Jane Trubkin, and Roger Brickbat shall have Isabel Motley; 4and now that they are busy in the parlour, come, strike up, 5we’ll have a crash here in the yard.

Nicholas

6My humour is not compendious; dancing I possess not, 7though I can foot it; yet, since I am fallen into the hands of 8Cicely Milkpail, I consent.

Jack

9Truly, Nick, though we were never brought up like 10serving courtiers, yet we have been brought up with serving 11creatures; ay, and God’s creatures too; for we have been 12brought up to serve sheep, oxen, horses, hogs, and suchlike; 13and, though we be but country fellows, it may be in the way of 14dancing we can do the horse-trick as well as the serving-men.

Roger

15Ay, and the cross-point too.

Jenkin

16Oh, Slime, oh, Brickbat, do you not know that comparisons 17are odious? Now we are odious ourselves too; 18therefore there are no comparisons to be made betwixt us.

Nicholas

I am sudden, and not superfluous;

I am quarrelsome, and not seditious;

I am peaceable, and not contentious;

I am brief, and not compendious.

Jack

23Foot it quickly. If the music overcome not my melancholy, 24I shall quarrel; and if they suddenly do not strike up, 25I shall presently strike thee down.

Jenkin

26No quarrelling, for God’s sake; truly, if you do, I shall 27set a knave between ye.

Jack

28I come to dance, not to quarrel. Come, what shall it be? 29‘Rogero’?

Jenkin

30‘Rogero’? No; we will dance ‘The Beginning of the 31World’.

Cicely

32I love no dance so well as ‘John, Come Kiss Me Now’.

Nicholas

33I, that have ere now deserved a cushion, call for the 34Cushion dance.

Roger

35For my part, I like nothing so well as ‘Tom Tyler’.

Jenkin

36No; we’ll have ‘The Hunting of the Fox’.

Jack

37‘The Hay’! ‘The Hay’! There’s nothing like ‘The 38Hay’!

Nicholas

39I have said, do say, and will say again—

Jenkin

40Every man agree to have it as Nick says.

All

41Content.

Nicholas

42It hath been, it now is, and it shall be—

Cicely

43What, Master Nicholas, what?

Nicholas

44‘Put on your Smock o’ Monday’.

Jenkin

45So, the dance will come cleanly off! Come, for God’s 46sake, agree of something. If you like not that, put it to the 47musicians. Or let me speak for all, and we’ll have ‘Sellenger’s 48Round’.

All

49That, that, that!

Nicholas

No, I am resolved; thus it shall be.

First take hands, then take ye to your heels.

Jenkin

Why, would ye have us run away?

Nicholas

No; but I would have you shake your heels.

Music! Strike up!

They dance; Nick, dancing, speaks stately and scurvily, the rest after the country fashion

Jenkin

Jenkin Hey! Lively, my lasses, here’s a turn for thee!

Exeunt.

[Act I. Scene 3]

[Chevy Chase]

Wind horns. Enter Sir Charles, Sir Francis, Malby, Cranwell, Wendoll, falconers, and huntsmen

Charles

So, well cast off. Aloft, aloft! Well flown.

Oh, now she takes her at the souse, and strikes her

Down to the earth like a swift thunder-clap.

Wendoll

She hath struck ten angels out of my way.

Francis

A hundred pound from me.

Charles

What, falconer!

Falconer

At hand, sir.

Charles

Now she hath seiz’d the fowl and ‘gins to plume her,

Rebuke her not; rather stand still and cherk her.

So, seize her gets, her jesses, and her bells.

Away!

Francis

My hawk kill’d too.

Charles

Ay, but ‘twas at the querre,

Not at the mount, like mine.

Francis

Judgment, my masters.

Cranwell

Yours miss’d her at the ferre.

Wendoll

Ay, but our merlin first had plum’d the fowl,

And twice renew’d her from the river too.

Her bells, Sir Francis, had not both one weight,

Nor was one semi-tune above the other.

Methinks these Milan bells do sound too full,

And spoil the mounting of your hawk.

Charles

‘Tis lost.

Francis

I grant it not. Mine likewise seiz’d a fowl

Within her talons, and you saw her paws

Full of the feathers; both her petty singles

And her long singles grip’d her more than other.

The terrials of her legs were stain’d with blood,

Not of the fowl only; she did discomfit

Some of her feathers, but she brake away.

Come, come, your hawk is but a rifler.

Charles

How!

Francis

Ay, and your dogs are trindle-tails and curs.

Charles

You stir my blood!

You keep not one good hound in all your kennel,

Nor one good hawk upon your perch.

Francis

How, knight!

Charles

So, knight; you will not swagger, sir?

Francis

Why, say I did?

Charles

Why, sir,

I say you would gain as much by swagg’ring

As you have got by wagers on your dogs.

You will come short in all things.

Francis

Not in this.

Now I’ll strike home.

[Strikes Sir Charles.]

Charles

Thou shalt to thy long home,

Or I will want my will.

Francis

All they that love Sir Francis follow me!

Charles

All that affect Sir Charles draw on my part!

Cranwell

On this side heaves my hand.

Wendoll

Here goes my heart.

They divide themselves. Sir Charles, Cranwell, his falconer and huntsman fight against Sir Francis, Wendoll, his falconer and huntsman; Sir Charles hath the better and beats them away, killing both of Sir Francis’s men.

Charles

My God, what have I done? What have I done?

My rage hath plung’d into a sea of blood,

In which my soul lies drown’d. Poor innocents,

For whom we are to answer. Well, ‘tis done,

And I remain the victor. A great conquest,

When I would give this right hand—nay, this head—

To breathe in them new life whom I have slain.

Forgive me, God; ‘twas in the heat of blood,

And anger quite removes me from myself.

It was not I, but rage, did this vile murder;

Yet I, and not my rage, must answer it.

Sir Francis Acton, he is fled the field;

With him all those that did partake his quarrel,

And I am left alone, with sorrow dumb,

And in my height of conquest overcome.

Enter Susan.

Susan

O God! My brother wounded ‘mong the dead!

Unhappy jest, that in such earnest ends.

The rumour of this fear stretch’d to my ears,

And I am come to know if you be wounded.

Charles

Oh, sister, sister, wounded at the heart.

Susan

My God forbid!

Charles

In doing that thing which he forbad,

I am wounded, sister.

Susan

I hope not at the heart.

Charles

Yes, at the heart.

Susan

O God! A surgeon there!

Charles

Call me a surgeon, sister, for my soul;

The sin of murder, it hath pierced my heart

And made a wide wound there. But for these scratches,

They are nothing, nothing.

Susan

Charles, what have you done?

Sir Francis hath great friends, and will pursue you

Unto the utmost danger of the law.

Charles

My conscience is become mine enemy,

And will pursue me more than Acton can.

Susan

Oh, fly, sweet brother!

Charles

Shall I fly from thee?

Why, Sue, art weary of my company?

Susan

Fly from your foe.

Charles

You, sister, are my friend,

And flying you, I shall pursue my end.

Susan

Your company is as my eye-ball dear;

Being far from you, no comfort can be near;

Yet fly to save your life. What would I care

To spend my future age in black despair,

So you were safe? And yet to live one week

Without my brother Charles, through every cheek

My streaming tears would downwards run so rank,

Till they could set on either side a bank,

And in the midst a channel; so my face

For two salt-water brooks shall still find place.

Charles

Thou shalt not weep so much, for I will stay,

In spite of danger’s teeth. I’ll live with thee,

Or I’ll not live at all. I will not sell

My country and my father’s patrimony,

Nor thy sweet sight, for a vain hope of life.

Enter Sheriff, with officers

Sheriff

Sir Charles, I am made the unwilling instrument

Of your attach and apprehension.

I’m sorry that the blood of innocent men

Should be of you exacted. It was told me

That you were guarded with a troop of friends,

And therefore [I] came thus arm’d.

Charles

Oh, Master Sheriff,

100

I came into the field with many friends,

101

But see, they all have left me; only one

102

Clings to my sad misfortune, my dear sister.

103

I know you for an honest gentleman;

104

I yield my weapons and submit to you.

105

Convey me where you please.

Sheriff

To prison then,

106

To answer for the lives of these dead men.

Susan

107

O God! O God!

Charles

Sweet sister, every strain

108

Of sorrow from your heart augments my pain;

109

Your grief abounds and hits against my breast.

Sheriff

110

Sir, will you go?

Charles

Even where it likes you best.

[Exeunt.]

[Act II. Scene 1]

[Frankford’s house]

Enter Master Frankford in a study

Frankford

How happy am I amongst other men,

That in my mean estate embrace content.

I am a gentleman, and by my birth

Companion with a king; a king’s no more.

I am posses’d of many fair revenues,

Sufficient to maintain a gentleman.

Touching my mind, I am studied in all arts,

The riches of my thoughts; and of my time

Have been a good proficient; but the chief

Of all the sweet felicities on earth,

I have a fair, a chaste, and loving wife;

Perfection all, all truth, all ornament.

If man on earth may truly happy be,

Of these at once possess’d, sure, I am he.

Enter Nicholas

Nicholas

Sir, there’s a gentleman attends without

To speak with you.

Frankford

On horseback?

Nicholas

Yes, on horseback.

Frankford

Entreat him to alight, and I’ll attend him.

Know’st thou him, Nick?

Nicholas

Know him? Yes; his name’s Wendoll.

It seems he comes in haste: his horse is booted

Up to the flank in mire, himself all spotted

And stain’d with plashing. Sure, he rid in fear,

Or for a wager. Horse and man both sweat;

I ne’er saw two in such a smoking heat.

Frankford

Entreat him in; about it instantly.

[Exit Nicholas.]

This Wendoll I have noted, and his carriage

Hath pleas’d me much; by observation

I have noted many good deserts in him.

He’s affable, and seen in many things,

Discourses well, a good companion;

And though of small means, yet a gentleman

Of a good house, somewhat press’d by want.

I have preferr’d him to a second place

In my opinion and my best regard.

Enter Wendoll, Mistress Frankford, and Nick

Anne

Oh, Master Frankford, Master Wendoll here

Brings you the strangest news that e’er you heard.

Frankford

What news, sweet wife? What news, good Master Wendoll?

Wendoll

You know the match made ‘twixt Sir Francis Acton

And Sir Charles Mountford?

Frankford

True; with their hounds and hawks.

Wendoll

The matches were both play’d.

Frankford

Ha! And which won?

Wendoll

Sir Francis, your wife’s brother, had the worst,

And lost the wager.

Frankford

Why, the worse his chance.

Perhaps the fortune of some other day

Will change his luck.

Wendoll

Oh, but you hear not all.

Sir Francis lost, and yet was loath to yield;

At length the two knights grew to difference,

From words to blows, and so to banding sides;

Where valorous Sir Charles slew, in his spleen,

Two of your brother’s men: his falconer,

And his good huntsman, whom he lov’d so well.

More men were wounded, no more slain outright.

Frankford

Now, trust me, I am sorry for the knight;

But is my brother safe?

Wendoll

All whole and sound,

His body not being blemish’d with one wound.

But poor Sir Charles is to the prison led,

To answer at th’assize for them that’s dead.

Frankford

I thank your pains, sir; had your news been better,

Your will was to have brought it, Master Wendoll.

Sir Charles will find hard friends; his case is heinous,

And will be most severely censur’d on;

I’m sorry for him. Sir, a word with you:

I know you, sir, to be a gentleman

In all things; your possibility but mean.

Please you to use my table and my purse;

They are yours.

Wendoll

O Lord, sir, I shall never deserve it!

Frankford

Oh, sir, disparage not your worth too much;

You are full of quality and fair desert.

Choose of my men which shall attend on you, sir,

And he is yours. I will allow you, sir,

Your man, your gelding, and your table, all

At mine own charge; be my companion.

Wendoll

Master Frankford, I have oft been bound to you

By many favours; this exceeds them all,

That I shall never merit your least favour.

But when your last remembrance I forget,

Heaven at my soul exact that weighty debt.

Frankford

There needs no protestation, for I know you

Virtuous, and therefore grateful. Prithee, Nan,

Use him with all thy loving’st courtesy.

Anne

As far as modesty may well extend,

It is my duty to receive your friend.

Frankford

To dinner. Come, sir, from this present day

Welcome to me for ever. Come, away!

Exeunt Anne, Frankford, and Wendoll.

Nicholas

I do not like this fellow by no means;

I never see him but my heart still earns.

Zounds! I could fight with him, yet know not why;

The devil and he are all one in mine eye.

Enter Jenkin

Jenkin

88Oh, Nick, what gentleman is that that comes to lie at our 89house? My master allows him one to wait on him, and I 90believe it will fall to thy lot.

Nicholas

I love my master; by these hilts, I do;

But rather than I’ll ever come to serve him,

I’ll turn away my master.

Enter Cicely

Cicely

94Nich’las, where are you, Nich’las? You must come in, 95Nich’las, and help the young gentleman off with his boots.

Nicholas

If I pluck off his boots, I’ll eat the spurs,

And they shall stick fast in my throat like burrs.

Cicely

98Then, Jenkin, come you.

Jenkin

99Nay, ‘tis no boot for me to deny it. My master hath 100given me a coat here, but he takes pains himself to brush it 101once or twice a day with a holly-wand.

Cicely

102Come, come; make haste, that you may wash your 103hands again and help to serve in dinner.

Jenkin

104You may see, my masters, though it be afternoon with 105you, ‘tis but early days with us, for we have not dined yet. 106Stay a little, I’ll but go in and help to bear up the first course, 107and come to you again presently.

Exeunt.

[Act II. Scene 2]

[The prison]

Enter Malby and Cranwell

Malby

This is the sessions day; pray, can you tell me

How young Sir Charles hath sped? Is he acquit,

Or must he try the law’s strict penalty?

Cranwell

He’s clear’d of all, spite of his enemies,

Whose earnest labour was to take his life;

But in this suit of pardon he hath spent

All the revenues that his father left him,

And he is now turn’d a plain countryman,

Reform’d in all things. See, sir, here he comes.

Enter Sir Charles and his keeper

Keeper

Discharge your fees, and you are then at freedom.

Charles

Here, Master Keeper, take the poor remainder

Of all the wealth I have; my heavy foes

Have made my purse light. But, alas, to me

‘Tis wealth enough that you have set me free.

Malby

God give you joy of your delivery!

I am glad to see you abroad, Sir Charles.

Charles

The poorest knight in England, Master Malby.

My life hath cost me all my patrimony

My father left his son. Well, God forgive them

That are the authors of my penury.

Enter Shafton

Shafton

Sir Charles, a hand, a hand! At liberty?

Now, by the faith I owe, I am glad to see it.

What want you? Wherein may I pleasure you?

Charles

O me, O most unhappy gentleman!

I am not worthy to have friends stirr’d up,

Whose hands may help me in this plunge of want.

I would I were in Heaven, to inherit there

Th’immortal birthright which my Saviour keeps,

And by no unthrift can be bought and sold;

For here on earth what pleasures should we trust?

Shafton

To rid you from these contemplations,

Three hundred pounds you shall receive of me;

Nay, five for fail. Come, sir, the sight of gold

Is the most sweet receipt for melancholy,

And will revive your spirits. You shall hold law

With your proud adversaries. Tush! Let Frank Acton

Wage, [with] his knighthood, like expense with me,

And ‘a will sink, he will. Nay, good Sir Charles,

Applaud your fortune and your fair escape

From all these perils.

Charles

Oh, sir, they have undone me.

Two thousand and five hundred pound a year

My father at his death possess’d me of;

All which the envious Acton made me spend;

And, notwithstanding all this large expense,

I had much ado to gain my liberty.

And I have only now a house of pleasure,

With some five hundred pounds reserv’d,

Both to maintain me and my loving sister.

Shafton

[Aside.]

That must I have; it lies convenient for me.

If I can fasten but one finger on him,

With my full hand I’ll gripe him to the heart.

‘Tis not for love I proffer’d him this coin,

But for my gain and pleasure.—Come, Sir Charles,

I know you have need of money; take my offer.

Charles

Sir, I accept it, and remain indebted

Even to the best of my unable power.

Come, gentlemen, and see it tend’red down.

[Exeunt.]

[Act II. Scene 3]

[Frankford’s house]

Enter Wendoll, melancholy

Wendoll

I am a villain if I apprehend

But such a thought! Then, to attempt the deed,

Slave, thou art damn’d without redemption.

I’ll drive away this passion with a song.

A song! Ha, ha! A song! As if, fond man,

Thy eyes could swim in laughter, when thy soul

Lies drench’d and drowned in red tears of blood.

I’ll pray, and see if God within my heart

Plant better thoughts. Why, prayers are meditations;

And when I meditate—O God, forgive me!—

It is on her divine perfections.

I will forget her; I will arm myself

Not t’entertain a thought of love to her,

And, when I come by chance into her presence,

I’ll hale these balls until my eye-strings crack,

From being pull’d and drawn to look that way.

Enter, over the stage, Frankford, his wife, and Nick

O God, O God! With what a violence

I’m hurried to mine own destruction!

There goest thou, the most perfect’st man

That ever England bred a gentleman;

And shall I wrong his bed? Thou God of thunder,

Stay, in Thy thoughts of vengeance and of wrath,

Thy great, almighty, and all-judging hand

From speedy execution on a villain;

A villain and a traitor to his friend!

Enter Jenkin

Jenkin

Did your worship call?

Wendoll

He doth maintain me; he allows me largely

Money to spend,—

Jenkin

29[Aside.] By my faith, so do not you me; I cannot get a 30 cross of you.

Wendoll

—My gelding, and my man;—

Jenkin

32[Aside.] That’s Sorrel and I.

Wendoll

—This kindness grows of no alliance ‘twixt us.—

Jenkin

34[Aside.] Nor is my service of any great acquaintance.

Wendoll

—I never bound him to me by desert.

Of a mere stranger, a poor gentleman,

A man by whom in no kind could he gain;

And he hath plac’d me in his highest thoughts,

Made me companion with the best and chiefest

In Yorkshire. He cannot eat without me,

Nor laugh without me. I am to his body

As necessary as his digestion,

And equally do make him whole or sick.

And shall I wrong this man? Base man! Ingrate!

Hast thou the power, straight with thy gory hands,

To rip thy image from his bleeding heart?

To scratch thy name from out the holy book

Of his remembrance, and to wound his name

That holds thy name so dear? Or rend his heart

To whom thy heart was knit and join’d together?

And yet I must. Then, Wendoll, be content.

Thus villains, when they would, cannot repent.

Jenkin

53[Aside.] What a strange humour is my new master in! 54 Pray God he be not mad; if he should be so, I should never 55 have any mind to serve him in Bedlam. It may be he’s mad 56 for missing of me.

Wendoll

57What, Jenkin! Where’s your mistress?

Jenkin

58Is your worship married?

Wendoll

59Why dost thou ask?

Jenkin

60Because you are my master, and if I have a mistress, I 61would be glad, like a good servant, to do my duty to her.

Wendoll

62I mean Mistress Frankford.

Jenkin

63Marry, sir, her husband is riding out of town, and she 64went very lovingly to bring him on his way to horse. Do you 65see, sir? Here she comes, and here I go.

Wendoll

66Vanish!

[Exit Jenkin.]

Enter mistress Frankford

Anne

Y’ are well met, sir. Now, in troth, my husband,

Before he took horse, had a great desire

To speak with you; we sought about the house,

Halloo’d into the fields, sent every way,

But could not meet you; therefore he enjoin’d me

To do unto you his most kind commends.

Nay, more; he wills you, as you prize his love,

Or hold in estimation his kind friendship,

To make bold in his absence, and command

Even as himself were present in the house.

For you must keep his table, use his servants,

And be a present Frankford in his absence.

Wendoll

I thank him for his love.

[Aside.]

Give me a name, you whose infectious tongues

Are tipp’d with gall and poison. As you would

Think on a man that had your father slain,

Murd’red your children, made your wives base strumpets,

So call me, call me so; print in my face

The most stigmatic title of a villain,

For hatching treason to so true a friend.

Anne

Sir, you are much beholding to my husband;

You are a man most dear in his regard.

Wendoll

I am bound unto your husband, and you too.

[Aside.]

I will not speak to wrong a gentleman

Of that good estimation, my kind friend;

I will not; zounds, I will not! I may choose,

And I will choose. Shall I be so misled,

Or shall I purchase to my father’s crest

The motto of a villain? If I say

I will not do it, what thing can enforce me?

What can compel me? What sad destiny

Hath such command upon my yielding thoughts?

I will not. Ha! Some fury pricks me on;

100

The swift Fates drag me at their chariot wheel,

101

And hurry me to mischief. Speak I must;

102

Injure myself, wrong her, deceive his trust.

Anne

103

Are you not well, sir, that ye seem thus troubled?

104

There is sedition in your countenance.

Wendoll

105

And in my heart, fair angel, chaste and wise.

106

I love you. Start not, speak not, answer not.

107

I love you. Nay, let me speak the rest.

108

Bid me to swear, and I will call to record

109

The host of Heaven.

Anne

The host of Heaven forbid

110

Wendoll should hatch such a disloyal thought.

Wendoll

111

Such is my fate. To this suit was I born,

112

To wear rich pleasure’s crown, or fortune’s scorn.

Anne

113

My husband loves you.

Wendoll

I know it.

Anne

He esteems you,

114

Even as his brain, his eye-ball, or his heart.

Wendoll

115

I have tried it.

Anne

116

His purse is your exchequer, and his table

117

Doth freely serve you.

Wendoll

So I have found it.

Anne

118

Oh, with what face of brass, what brow of steel,

119

Can you, unblushing, speak this to the face

120

Of the espous’d wife of so dear a friend?

121

It is my husband that maintains your state;

122

Will you dishonour him? I am his wife,

123

That in your power hath left his whole affairs;

124

It is to me you speak.

Wendoll

Oh, speak no more;

125

For more than this I know, and have recorded

126

Within the red-leav’d table of my heart.

127

Fair, and of all belov’d, I was not fearful

128

Bluntly to give my life into your hand,

129

And at one hazard all my earthly means.

130

Go, tell your husband; he will turn me off,

131

And I am then undone. I care not, I;

132

‘Twas for your sake. Perchance, in rage he’ll kill me;

133

I care not; ‘twas for you. Say I incur

134

The general name of villain through the world,

135

Of traitor to my friend; I care not, I.

136

Beggary, shame, death, scandal, and reproach,—

137

For you I’ll hazard all; why, what care I?

138

For you I’ll live, and in your love I’ll die.

Anne

139

You move me, sir, to passion and to pity.

140

The love I bear my husband is as precious

141

As my soul’s health.

Wendoll

I love your husband too,

142

And for his love I will engage my life.

143

Mistake me not; the augmentation

144

Of my sincere affection borne to you

145

Doth no whit lessen my regard of him.

146

I will be secret, lady, close as night;

147

And not the light of one small glorious star

148

Shall shine here in my forehead to bewray

149

That act of night.

Anne

What shall I say?

150

My soul is wand’ring and hath lost her way.

151

Oh, Master Wendoll, oh!

Wendoll

Sigh not, sweet saint;

152

For every sigh you breathe draws from my heart

153

A drop of blood.

Anne

I ne’er offended yet;

154

My fault, I fear, will in my brow be writ.

155

Women that fall, not quite bereft of grace,

156

Have their offences noted in their face.

157

I blush and am asham’d. Oh, Master Wendoll,

158

Pray God I be not born to curse your tongue,

159

That hath enchanted me. This maze I am in

160

I fear will prove the labyrinth of sin.

Enter Nick [unseen]

Wendoll

161

The path of pleasure and the gate to bliss,

162

Which on your lips I knock at with a kiss.

Nicholas

163[Aside.] I’ll kill the rogue.

Wendoll

164

Your husband is from home, your bed’s no blab;

165

Nay, look not down and blush.

Exeunt Wendoll and Anne.

Nicholas

Zounds, I’ll stab!

166

Ay, Nick, was it thy chance to come just in the nick?

167

I love my master, and I hate that slave;

168

I love my mistress, but these tricks I like not.

169

My master shall not pocket up this wrong,

170

I’ll eat my fingers first. What say’st thou, metal?

171

Does not that rascal Wendoll go on legs

172

That thou must cut off? Hath he not hamstrings

173

That thou must hough? Nay, metal, thou shalt stand

174

To all I say. I’ll henceforth turn a spy,

175

And watch them in their close conveyances.

176

I never look’d for better of that rascal,

177

Since he came miching first into our house.

178

It is that Satan hath corrupted her,

179

For she was fair and chaste. I’ll have an eye

180

In all their gestures. Thus I think of them,

181

If they proceed as they have done before:

182

Wendoll’s a knave, my mistress is a —.

Exit.

[Act III. Scene 1]

[Mountford’s house in the country]

Enter Charles and Susan

Charles

Sister, you see we are driven to hard shift,

To keep this poor house we have left unsold.

I am now enforc’d to follow husbandry,

And you to milk. And do we not live well?

Well, I thank God.

Susan

Oh, brother, here’s a change,

Since old Sir Charles died in our father’s house.

Charles

All things on earth thus change, some up, some down;

Content’s a kingdom, and I wear that crown.

Enter Shafton, with a sergeant

Shafton

Good morrow, morrow, Sir Charles. What, with your sister,

Plying your husbandry?—Sergeant, stand off.—

You have a pretty house here, and a garden,

And goodly ground about it. Since it lies

So near a lordship that I lately bought,

I would fain buy it of you. I will give you—

Charles

Oh, pardon me; this house successively

Hath long’d to me and my progenitors

Three hundred years. My great-great-grandfather,

He in whom first our gentle style began,

Dwelt here, and in this ground increas’d this mole-hill

Unto that mountain which my father left me.

Where he the first of all our house began,

I now the last will end, and keep this house,

This virgin title, never yet deflower’d

By any unthrift of the Mountfords’ line.

In brief, I will not sell it for more gold

Than you could hide or pave the ground withal.

Shafton

Ha, ha! A proud mind and a beggar’s purse.

Where’s my three hundred pounds, besides the use?

I have brought it to an execution

By course of law. What, is my monies ready?

Charles

An execution, sir, and never tell me

You put my bond in suit? You deal extremely.

Shafton

Sell me the land, and I’ll acquit you straight.

Charles

Alas, alas, ‘tis all trouble hath left me

To cherish me and my poor sister’s life.

If this were sold, our names should then be quite

Raz’d from the bead-roll of gentility.

You see what hard shift we have made to keep it

Allied still to our own name; this palm you see,

Labour hath glow’d within; her silver brow,

That never tasted a rough winter’s blast

Without a mask or fan, doth with a grace

Defy cold winter, and his storms outface.

Susan

Sir, we feed sparingly, and we labour hard;

We lie uneasy, to reserve to us

And our succession this small spot of ground.

Charles

I have so bent my thoughts to husbandry,

That I protest I scarcely can remember

What a new fashion is, how silk or satin

Feels in my hand. Why, pride is grown to us

A mere, mere stranger. I have quite forgot

The names of all that ever waited on me.

I cannot name ye any of my hounds,

Once from whose echoing mouths I heard all music

That e’er my heart desir’d. What should I say?

To keep this place, I have chang’d myself away.

Shafton

Arrest him at my suit. Actions and actions

Shall keep thee in continual bondage fast;

Nay, more, I’ll sue thee by a late appeal,

And call thy former life in question.

The keeper is my friend; thou shalt have irons,

And usage such as I’ll deny to dogs.

Away with him!

Charles

Ye are too timorous;

But trouble is my master,

And I will serve him truly. My kind sister,

Thy tears are of no force to mollify

This flinty man. Go to my father’s brother,

My kinsmen, and allies; entreat them for me,

To ransom me from this injurious man

That seeks my ruin.

Shafton

Come, irons, irons! Come away;

I’ll see thee lodg’d far from the sight of day.

[Exeunt Shafton, Charles, and sergeant.]

Susan

My heart’s so hard’ned with the frost of grief,

Death cannot pierce it through. Tyrant too fell!

So lead the fiends condemned souls to hell!

[Stands aside.]

Enter Sir Francis Acton and Malby

Francis

Again to prison! Malby, hast thou seen

A poor slave better tortur’d? Shall we hear

The music of his voice cry from the grate,

‘Meat, for the Lord’s sake’? No, no; yet I am not

Throughly reveng’d. They say he hath a pretty wench

To his sister; shall I, in my mercy-sake

To him and to his kindred, bribe the fool

To shame herself by lewd, dishonest lust?

I’ll proffer largely; but, the deed being done,

I’ll smile to see her base confusion.

Malby

Methinks, Sir Francis, you are full reveng’d

For greater wrongs than he can proffer you.

See where the poor sad gentlewoman stands.

Francis

Ha, ha! Now will I flout her poverty,

Deride her fortunes, scoff her base estate;

My very soul the name of Mountford hates.

But stay, my heart; oh, what a look did fly

To strike my soul through with thy piercing eye!

I am enchanted; all my spirits are fled,

And with one glance my envious spleen struck dead.

Susan

Acton that seeks our blood!

Runs away.

Francis

O chaste and fair!

Malby

Sir Francis! Why, Sir Francis! In a trance?

Sir Francis! What cheer, man? Come, come, how is’t?

Francis

Was she not fair? Or else this judging eye

Cannot distinguish beauty.

Malby

She was fair.

Francis

100

She was an angel in a mortal’s shape,

101

And ne’er descended from old Mountford’s line.

102

But soft, soft; let me call my wits together.

103

A poor, poor wench, to my great adversary

104

Sister, whose very souls denounce stern war

105

Each against other. How now, Frank? Turn’d fool

106

Or madman, whether? But no; master of

107

My perfect senses and directest wits.

108

Then why should I be in this violent humour

109

Of passion and of love? And with a person

110

So different every way, and so opposed

111

In all contractions and still-warring actions?

112

Fie, fie! How I dispute against my soul!

113

Come, come; I’ll gain her, or in her fair quest

114

Purchase my soul free and immortal rest.

[Exeunt.]

[Act III. Scene 2]

[Frankford’s house]

Enter three or four serving-men, one with a voider and a wooden knife, to take away; another the salt and bread; another the tablecloth and napkins; another the carpet; Jenkin with two lights after them

Jenkin

1So; march in order, and retire in battle array. My master 2and the guests have supped already; all’s taken away. Here, 3now spread for the serving-men in the hall. Butler, it belongs 4to your office.

Spigot

5I know it, Jenkin. What d’ye call the gentleman that 6supped there tonight?

Jenkin

7Who, my master?

Spigot

8No, no; Master Wendoll, he’s a daily guest. I mean 9the gentleman that came but this afternoon.

Jenkin

10His name’s Master Cranwell. God’s light! Hark, within 11there! My master calls to lay more billets upon the fire. Come, 12come! Lord, how we that are in office here in thehouse are 13troubled! One spread the carpet in the parlour, and stand 14ready to snuff the lights; the rest be ready to prepare their 15stomachs. More lights in the hall there. Come, Nich’las.

Exeunt, except Nicholas.

Nicholas

I cannot eat; but, had I Wendoll’s heart,

I would eat that; the rogue grows impudent.

Oh, I have seen such vile, notorious tricks,

Ready to make my eyes dart from my head.

I’ll tell my master; by this air, I will;

Fall what may fall, I’ll tell him. Here he comes.

Enter Master Frankford, as it were brushing the crumbs from his clothes with a napkin, as newly risen from supper

Frankford

Nich’las, what make you here? Why are not you

At supper in the hall among your fellows?

Nicholas

Master, I stay’d your rising from the board,

To speak with you.

Frankford

Be brief then, gentle Nich’las;

My wife and guests attend me in the parlour.

Why dost thou pause? Now, Nich’las, you want money,

And, unthrift-like, would eat into your wages

Ere you had earn’d it; here, sir, ‘s half a crown;

Play the good husband, and away to supper.

Nicholas

31[Aside.] By this hand, an honourable gentleman; I will 32 not see him wronged.—

ErrorMetrica

Sir, I have serv’d you long; you entertain’d me

Seven years before your beard. You knew me, sir,

Before you knew my mistress.

Frankford

What of this, good Nich’las?

Nicholas

I never was a makebate or a knave;

I have no fault but one: I’m given to quarrel,

But not with women. I will tell you, master,

That which will make your heart leap from your breast,

Your hair to startle from your head, your ears to tingle.

Frankford

What preparation’s this to dismal news?

Nicholas

‘Sblood, sir, I love you better than your wife;

I’ll make it good.

Frankford

Y’are a knave, and I have much ado

With wonted patience to contain my rage,

And not to break thy pate. Th’art a knave;

I’ll turn you, with your base comparisons,

Out of my doors.

Nicholas

Do, do.

There is not room for Wendoll and me too,

Both in one house. Oh, master, master,

That Wendoll is a villain!

Frankford

[Strikes him.]

Ay, saucy?

Nicholas

Strike, strike, do; strike! Yet hear me. I am no fool;

I know a villain, when I see him act

Deeds of a villain. Master, master, the base slave

Enjoys my mistress, and dishonours you!

Frankford

Thou hast kill’d me with a weapon whose sharp point

Hath prick’d quite through and through my shiv’ring heart.

Drops of cold sweat sit dangling on my hairs,

Like morning’s dew upon the golden flowers,

And I am plung’d into strange agonies.

What did’st thou say? If any word that touch’d

His credit or her reputation,

It is as hard to enter my belief

As Dives into Heaven.

Nicholas

I can gain nothing;

They are two that never wrong’d me. I knew before

‘Twas but a thankless office, and perhaps

As much as is my service, or my life

Is worth; all this I know. But this, and more,

More by a thousand dangers, could not hire me

To smother such a heinous wrong from you;

I saw, and I have said.

Frankford

[Aside.]

‘Tis probable; though blunt, yet he is honest.

Though I durst pawn my life, and on their faith

Hazard the dear salvation of my soul,

Yet in my trust I may be too secure.

May this be true? Oh, may it? Can it be?

Is it by any wonder possible?

Man, woman, what thing mortal can we trust,

When friends and bosom wives prove so unjust?—

What instance hast thou of this strange report?

Nicholas

Eyes, master, eyes.

Frankford

Thy eyes may be deceiv’d, I tell thee;

For should an angel from the heavens drop down,

And preach this to me that thyself hast told,

He should have much ado to win belief,

In both their loves I am so confident.

Nicholas

Shall I discourse the same by circumstance?

Frankford

No more. To supper, and command your fellows

To attend us and the strangers. Not a word,

I charge thee, on thy life. Be secret then,

For I know nothing.

Nicholas

I am dumb; and now that I have eas’d my stomach,

I will go fill my stomach.

Exit.

Frankford

Away, begone.

She is well born, descended nobly;

Virtuous her education; her repute

Is in the general voice of all the country

Honest and fair; her carriage, her demeanour,

In all her actions that concern the love

100

To me her husband, modest, chaste, and godly.

101

Is all this seeming gold plain copper?

102

But he, that Judas that hath borne my purse

103

And sold me for a sin! O God, O God!

104

Shall I put up these wrongs? No! Shall I trust

105

The bare report of this suspicious groom

106

Before the double-gilt, the well-hatch’d ore,

107

Of their two hearts? No! I will lose these thoughts;

108

Distraction I will banish from my brow,

109

And from my looks exile sad discontent.

110

Their wonted favours in my tongue shall flow;

111

Till I know all, I’ll nothing seem to know.

112

Lights and a table there! Wife, Master Wendoll,

113

And gentle Master Cranwell!

Enter Mistress Frankford, Master Wendoll, Master Cranwell, Nick and Jenkin, with cards, carpets, stools and other necessaries

Frankford

114

Oh, Master Cranwell, you are a stranger here,

115

And often balk my house; faith, y’are a churl.

116

Now we have supp’d, a table, and to cards!

Jenkin

117A pair of cards, Nich’las, and a carpet to cover the 118table. Where’s Cicely, with her counters and her box? Candles 119and candlesticks there! Fie, we have such a household of 120serving creatures! Unless it be Nick and I, there’s not one 121amongst them all can say boo to a goose. Well said, Nick.

They spread a carpet, set down lights and cards

Anne

122Come, Master Frankford, who shall take my part?

Frankford

123Marry, that will I, sweet wife.

Wendoll

124No, by my faith; when you are together I sit out. It 125must be Mistress Frankford and I, or else it is no match.

Frankford

126I do not like that match.

Nicholas

127[Aside.] You have no reason, marry, knowing all.

Frankford

128‘Tis no great matter neither. Come, Master Cranwell, 129shall you and I take them up?

Cranwell

130At your pleasure, sir.

Frankford

131I must look to you, Master Wendoll, for you’ll be 132playing false; nay, so will my wife too.

Nicholas

133[Aside.] I will be sworn she will.

Anne

134Let them that are taken false, forfeit the set.

Frankford

135Content; it shall go hard, but I’ll take you.

Cranwell

136Gentlemen, what shall our game be?

Wendoll

137Master Frankford, you play best at noddy.

Frankford

138You shall not find it so; indeed you shall not.

Anne

139I can play at nothing so well as double ruff.

Frankford

140If Master Wendoll and my wife be together, there's no 141playing against them at double-hand.

Nicholas

142I can tell you, sir, the game that Master Wendoll is best 143at.

Wendoll

144What game is that, Nick?

Nicholas

145Marry, sir, knave out of doors.

Wendoll

146She and I will take you at loadum.

Anne

147Husband, shall we play at saint?

Frankford

148

[Aside.]

My saint’s turn’d devil—No, we’ll none of

149

saint.

150

You are best at new-cut, wife; you’ll play at that.

Wendoll

151If you play at new-cut, I’m soonest hitter of any here, 152for a wager.

Frankford

153

[Aside.]

‘Tis me they play on.—Well, you may draw

154

out;

155

For all your cunning, ‘twill be to your shame;

156

I’ll teach you, at your new-cut, a new game.

157

Come, come!

Cranwell

158

If you cannot agree upon the game,

159

To post and pair.

Wendoll

160

We shall be soonest pairs, and my good host,

161

When he comes late home, he must kiss the post.

Frankford

162

Whoever wins, it shall be to thy cost.

Cranwell

163

Faith, let it be vide-ruff, and let’s make honours.

Frankford

164

If you make honours, one thing let me crave:

165

Honour the king and queen, except the knave.

Wendoll

166

Well, as you please for that. Lift who shall deal.

Anne

167

The least in sight. What are you, Master Wendoll?

Wendoll

168

I am a knave.

Nicholas

[Aside.]

I’ll swear it.

Anne

I am queen.

Frankford

169

[Aside.]

A quean, thou should’st say.—Well, the cards

170

are mine;

171

They are the grossest pair that e’er I felt.

Anne

172

Shuffle; I’ll cut. Would I had never dealt.

Frankford

173

[Misdeals.]

I have lost my dealing.

Wendoll

Sir, the fault’s in me;

174

This queen I have more than mine own, you see.

175

Give me the stock.

Frankford

My mind’s not on my game.

176

Many a deal I have lost, the more’s your shame.

177

You have serv’d me a bad trick, Master Wendoll.

Wendoll

178

Sir, you must take your lot. To end this strife,

179

I know I have dealt better with your wife.

Frankford

180

Thou hast dealt falsely then.

Anne

181

What’s trumps?

Wendoll

182

Hearts. Partner, I rub.

Frankford

183

[Aside.]

Thou robb’st me of my soul, of her chaste love;

184

In thy false dealing thou hast robb’d my heart.—

185

Booty you play; I like a loser stand.

186

Having no heart, or here or in my hand.

187

I will give o’er the set, I am not well.

188

Come, who will hold my cards?

Anne

189

Not well, sweet Master Frankford?

190

Alas, what ails you? ‘Tis some sudden qualm.

Wendoll

191

How long have you been so, Master Frankford?

Frankford

192

Sir, I was lusty, and I had my health,

193

But I grew ill when you began to deal.

194

Take hence this table. Gentle Master Cranwell,

195

Y’are welcome; see your chamber at your pleasure.

196

I am sorry that this megrim takes me so,

197

I cannot sit and bear you company.

198

Jenkin, some lights, and show him to his chamber!

[Exeunt Cranwell and Jenkin.]

Anne

199

A night-gown for my husband; quickly there!

200

It is some rheum or cold.

Wendoll

Now, in good faith,

201

This illness you have got by sitting late

202

Without your gown.

Frankford

I know it, Master Wendoll.

203

Go, go to bed, lest you complain like me.

204

Wife, prithee, wife, into my bed-chamber;

205

The night is raw and cold, and rheumatic.

206

Leave me my gown and light; I’ll walk away my fit.

Wendoll

207

Sweet sir, good night.

Frankford

Myself, good night.

[Exit Wendoll.]

Anne

208

Shall I attend you, husband?

Frankford

209

No, gentle wife, thou’lt catch cold in thy head;

210

Prithee, begone, sweet; I’ll make haste to bed.

Anne

211

No sleep will fasten on mine eyes, you know,

212

Until you come.

Frankford

Sweet Nan, I prithee, go.

Exit Anne.

213

I have bethought me; get me by degrees

214

The keys of all my doors, which I will mould

215

In wax, and take their fair impression,

216

To have by them new keys. This being compass’d,

217

At a set hour a letter shall be brought me,

218

And when they think they may securely play,

219

They nearest are to danger. Nick, I must rely

220

Upon thy trust and faithful secrecy.

Nicholas

221

Build on my faith.

Frankford

To bed then, not to rest;

222

Care lodges in my brain, grief in my breast.

[Exeunt.]

[Act III. Scene 3]

[Old Mountford’s house]

Enter Sir Charles's sister, Old Mountford, Sandy, Roder, and Tidy

Mountford

You say my nephew is in great distress.

Who brought it to him but his own lewd life?

I cannot spare a cross. I must confess

He was my brother’s son; why, niece, what then?

This is no world in which to pity men.

Susan

I was not born a beggar, though his extremes

Enforce this language from me; I protest

No fortune of mine own could lead my tongue

To this base key. I do beseech you, uncle,

For the name’s sake, for Christianity,—

Nay, for God’s sake, to pity his distress.

He is deni’d the freedom of the prison,

And in the hole is laid with men condemn’d;

Plenty he hath of nothing but of irons,

And it remains in you to free him thence.

Mountford

Money I cannot spare. Men should take heed;

He lost my kindred when he fell to need.

[Exit.]

Susan

Gold is but earth; thou earth enough shalt have,

When thou hast once took measure of thy grave.

You know me, Master Sandy, and my suit.

Sandy

I knew you, lady, when the old man liv’d;

I knew you ere your brother sold his land.

Then you were Mistress Sue, trick’d up in jewels;

Then you sung well, play’d sweetly on the lute;

But now I neither know you nor your suit.

[Exit.]

Susan

You, Master Roder, was my brother’s tenant;

Rent-free he plac’d you in that wealthy farm,

Of which you are possess’d.

Roder

True, he did;

And have I not there dwelt still for his sake?

I have some business now; but, without doubt,

They that have hurl’d him in will help him out.

Exit.

Susan

Cold comfort still. What say you, cousin Tidy?

Tidy

I say this comes of roisting, swagg’ring;

Call me not cousin. Each man for himself.

Some men are born to mirth, and some to sorrow;

I am no cousin unto them that borrow.

Exit.

Susan

O Charity, why art thou fled to Heaven,

And left all things on this earth uneven?

Their scoffing answers I will ne’er return;

But to myself his grief in silence mourn.

Enter Sir Francis and Malby

Francis

She is poor; I’ll therefore tempt her with this gold.

Go, Malby, in my name deliver it,

And I will stay thy answer.

Malby

Fair mistress, as I understand your grief

Doth grow from want, so I have here in store

A means to furnish you, a bag of gold,

Which to your hands I freely tender you.

Susan

I thank you, Heavens; I thank you, gentle sir.

God make me able to requite this favour!

Malby

This gold Sir Francis Acton sends by me,

And prays you—

Susan

Acton! O God! That name I’m born to curse.

Hence, bawd; hence, broker! See, I spurn his gold;

My honour never shall for gain be sold.

Francis

Stay, lady, stay!

Susan

From you I’ll posting hie,

Even as the doves from feather’d eagles fly.

Exit.

Francis

She hates my name, my face; how should I woo?

I am disgrac’d in everything I do.

The more she hates me and disdains my love,

The more I am rapt in admiration

Of her divine and chaste perfections.

Woo her with gifts I cannot, for all gifts

Sent in my name she spurns; with looks I cannot,

For she abhors my sight; nor yet with letters,

For none she will receive. How then? How then?

Well, I will fasten such a kindness on her,

As shall o’ercome her hate and conquer it.

Sir Charles, her brother, lies in execution

For a great sum of money; and besides,

The appeal is sued still for my huntsmen’s death,

Which only I have power to reverse.

In her I’ll bury all my hate of him.

Go seek the keeper, Malby; bring him to me.

To save his body, I his debts will pay;

To save his life, I his appeal will stay.

[Exeunt.]

[Act IV. Scene I]

[The prison in York Castle]

Enter Sir Charles with irons, his feet bare, his garments all ragged and torn

Charles

Of all on the earth’s face most miserable,

Breathe in this hellish dungeon thy laments.

Thus like a slave ragg’d, like a felon gyv’d,—

That hurls thee headlong to this base estate.

O unkind uncle! O my friends ingrate!

Unthankful kinsmen! Mountford’s all too base,

To let thy name be fetter’d in disgrace.

A thousand deaths here in this grave I die;

Fear, hunger, sorrow, cold, all threat my death,

And join together to deprive my breath.

But that which most torments me, my dear sister

Hath left to visit me, and from my friends

Hath brought no hopeful answer; therefore, I

Divine they will not help my misery.

If it be so, shame, scandal, and contempt

Attend their covetous thoughts; need make their graves!

Usurers they live, and may they die like slaves!

Enter keeper

Keeper

Knight, be of comfort, for I bring thee freedom

From all thy troubles.

Charles

Then I am doomed to die;

Death is the end of all calamity.

Keeper

Live. Your appeal is stay’d, the execution

Of your debts discharg’d, your creditors,

Even to the utmost penny, satisfied.

In sign whereof, your shackles I knock off.

You are not left so much indebted to us

As for your fees; all is discharg’d, all paid.

Go freely to your house, or where you please;

After long miseries, embrace your ease.

Charles

Thou grumblest out the sweetest music to me

That ever organ play’d. Is this a dream,

Or do my waking senses apprehend

The pleasing taste of these applausive news?

Slave that I was, to wrong such honest friends,

My loving kinsmen, and my near allies!

Tongue, I will bite thee for the scandal breath’d

Against such faithful kinsmen; they are all

Compos’d of pity and compassion,

Of melting charity, and of moving ruth.

That which I spake before was in my rage;

They are my friends, the mirrors of this age,

Bounteous and free. The noble Mountfords’ race

Ne’er bred a covetous thought or humour base.

Enter Susan

Susan

[Aside.]

I can no longer stay from visiting

My woeful brother; while I could, I kept

My hapless tidings from his hopeful ear.

Charles

Sister, how much am I indebted to thee

And to thy travail!

Susan

What, at liberty?

Charles

Thou seest I am, thanks to thy industry.

Oh, unto which of all my courteous friends

Am I thus bound? My uncle Mountford, he

Even of an infant lov’d me; was it he?

So did my cousin Tidy: was it he?

So Master Roder, Master Sandy too;

Which of all these did this high kindness do?

Susan

Charles, can you mock me in your poverty,

Knowing your friends deride your misery?

Now I protest I stand so much amaz’d,

To see your bonds free, and your irons knock’d off,

That I am rapt into a maze of wonder;

The rather for I know not by what means

This happiness hath chanc’d.

Charles

Why, by my uncle,

My cousins, and my friends; who else, I pray,

Would take upon them all my debts to pay?

Susan

Oh, brother, they are men [made] all of flint,

Pictures of marble, and as void of pity

As chased bears. I begg’d, I sued, I kneel’d,

Laid open all your griefs and miseries,

Which they derided; more than that, deni’d us

A part in their alliance; but, in pride,

Said that our kindred with our plenty died.

Charles

Drudges too much! What, did they? Oh, known evil!

Rich fly the poor as good men shun the devil.

Whence should my freedom come? Of whom alive,

Saving of those, have I deserv’d so well?

Guess, sister, call to mind, remember me.

These I have rais’d, they follow the world’s guise,

Whom rich they honour, they in woe despise.

Susan

My wits have lost themselves; let’s ask the keeper.

Charles

Jailer!

Keeper

At hand, sir.

Charles

Of courtesy, resolve me one demand.

What was he took the burden of my debts

From off my back, stay’d my appeal to death,

Discharg’d my fees, and brought me liberty?

Keeper

A courteous knight, and call’d Sir Francis Acton.

Charles

Ha! Acton! O me, more distress’d in this

Than all my troubles! Hale me back,

Double my irons, and my sparing meals

Put into halves, and lodge me in a dungeon

More deep, more dark, more cold, more comfortless.

By Acton freed! Not all thy manacles

Could fetter so my heels, as this one word

Hath thrall’d my heart; and it must now lie bound

In more strict prison than thy stony jail.

I am not free; I go but under bail.

Keeper

My charge is done, sir, now I have my fees;

As we get little, we will nothing leese.

Charles

By Acton freed, my dangerous opposite!

Why, to what end? Or what occasion? Ha!

100

Let me forget the name of enemy,

101

And with indifference balance this high favour. Ha!

Susan

102

[Aside.]

His love to me; upon my soul, ‘tis so!

103

That is the root from whence these strange things grow.

Charles

104

Had this proceeded from my father, he

105

That by the law of nature is most bound

106

In offices of love, it had deserv’d

107

My best employment to requite that grace.

108

Had it proceeded from my friends, or him,

109

From them this action had deserv’d my life,

110

And from a stranger more, because from such

111

There is less execution of good deeds.

112

But he, nor father, nor ally, nor friend,

113

More than a stranger, both remote in blood,

114

And in his heart oppos’d my enemy,

115

That this high bounty should proceed from him—

116

Oh, there I lose myself. What should I say,

117

What think, what do, his bounty to repay?

Susan

118

You wonder, I am sure, whence this strange kindness

119

Proceeds in Acton; I will tell you, brother:

120

He dotes on me, and oft hath sent me gifts,

121

Letters, and tokens. I refus’d them all.

Charles

122

I have enough, though poor; my heart is set,

123

In one rich gift to pay back all my debt.

Exeunt.

[Act IV. Scene 2]

[Frankford’s house]

Enter Frankford, with a letter in his hand, and Nick, with keys

Frankford

This is the night that I must play my part,

To try two seeming angels. Where’s my keys?

Nicholas

They are made according to your mould in wax.

I bade the smith be secret, gave him money,

And here they are. The letter, sir.

Frankford

True; take it, there it is;

And when thou seest me in my pleasant’st vein,

Ready to sit to supper, bring it me.

Nicholas

I’ll do’t; make no more question but I’ll do’t.

Exit.

Enter Mistress Frankford, Cranwell, Wendoll, and Jenkin

Anne

Sirrah, ‘tis six o’clock already struck;

Go bid them spread the cloth and serve in supper.

Jenkin

12It shall be done, forsooth, Mistress. Where’s Spigot, the 13butler, to give us our salt and trenchers?

Wendoll

We that have been a-hunting all the day

Come with prepared stomachs. Master Frankford,

We wish’d you at our sport.

Frankford

My heart was with you, and my mind was on you.

Fie, Master Cranwell, you are still thus sad;

A stool, a stool! Where’s Jenkin, and where’s Nick?

‘Tis supper time at least an hour ago.

What’s the best news abroad?

Wendoll

I know none good.

Frankford

[Aside.]

But I know too much bad.

Enter Spigot and Jenkin with a tablecloth, bread, trenchers, and salt [and exeunt shortly]

Cranwell

Methinks, sir, you might have that interest

In your wife’s brother, to be more remiss

In his hard dealing against poor Sir Charles,

Who, as I hear, lies in York Castle,

Needy, and in great want.

Frankford

Did not more weighty business of mine own

Hold me away, I would have labour’d peace

Betwixt them with all care; indeed I would, sir.

Anne

I’ll write unto my brother earnestly

In that behalf.

Wendoll

A charitable deed,

And will beget the good opinion

Of all your friends that love you, Mistress Frankford.

Frankford

That’s you for one. I know you love Sir Charles.—

[Aside.]

And my wife too well.

Wendoll

He deserves the love

Of all true gentlemen; be yourselves judge.

Frankford

But supper, ho! Now as thou lov’st me, Wendoll,

Which I am sure thou dost, be merry, pleasant,

And frolic it tonight. Sweet Master Cranwell,

Do you the like. Wife, I protest my heart

Was ne’er more bent on sweet alacrity.

Where be those lazy knaves to serve in supper?

Enter Nick

Nicholas

Here's a letter, sir.

Frankford

Whence comes it, and who brought it?

Nicholas

A stripling that below attends your answer,

And, as he tells me, it is sent from York.

Frankford

Have him into the cellar; let him taste

A cup of our March beer. Go, make him drink.

[Reads the letter.]

Nicholas

I’ll make him drunk, if he be a Trojan.

Frankford

My boots and spurs! Where’s Jenkin? God forgive me,

How I neglect my business! Wife, look here;

I have a matter to be tri’d tomorrow

By eight o’clock, and my attorney writes me

I must be there betimes with evidence,

Or it will go against me. Where’s my boots?

Enter Jenkin, with boots and spurs

Anne

I hope your business craves no such dispatch

That you must ride tonight.

Wendoll

[Aside.]

I hope it doth.

Frankford

God’s me, no such dispatch?

Jenkin, my boots. Where’s Nick? Saddle my roan,

And the grey dapple for himself. Content ye,

It much concerns me. Gentle Master Cranwell,

And Master Wendoll, in my absence use

The very ripest pleasure of my house.

Wendoll

Lord, Master Frankford, will you ride tonight?

The ways are dangerous.

Frankford

Therefore will I ride

Appointed well, and so shall Nick, my man.

Anne

I’ll call you up by five o’clock tomorrow.

Frankford

No, by my faith, wife, I’ll not trust to that;

‘Tis not such easy rising in a morning

From one I love so dearly. No, by my faith,

I shall not leave so sweet a bedfellow

But with much pain; you have made me a sluggard

Since I first knew you.

Anne

Then, if you needs will go

This dangerous evening, Master Wendoll,

Let me entreat you bear him company.

Wendoll

With all my heart, sweet mistress. My boots there!

Frankford

Fie, fie, that for my private business

I should disease my friend, and be a trouble

To the whole house. Nick?

Nicholas

Anon, sir.

Frankford

Bring forth my gelding.—As you love me, sir,

[Exit Nicholas.]

Use no more words. A hand, good Master Cranwell.

Cranwell

Sir, God be your good speed.

Frankford

Good night, sweet Nan; nay, nay, a kiss, and part.—

[Aside.]

Dissembling lips, you suit not with my heart.

Exit.

Wendoll

[Aside.]

How business, time, and hours, all gracious prove,

And are the furtherers to my new-born love!

I am husband now in Master Frankford’s place,

And must command the house.

[To Anne.]

My pleasure is

We will not sup abroad so publicly,

But in your private chamber, Mistress Frankford.

Anne

[Aside to Wendoll.]

Oh, sir, you are too public in your love,

And Master Frankford’s wife—

Cranwell

Might I crave favour,

I would entreat you I might see my chamber;

I am on the sudden grown exceeding ill,

And would be spar’d from supper.

Wendoll

Light there, ho!

See you want nothing, sir; for if you do,

You injure that good man, and wrong me too.

Cranwell

100

I will make bold. Good night.

Exit.

Wendoll

How all conspire

101

To make our bosom sweet, and full entire!

102

Come, Nan, I prithee, let us sup within.

Anne

103

Oh, what a clog unto the soul is sin!

104

We pale offenders are still full of fear;

105

Every suspicious eye brings danger near.

106

When they whose clear hearts from offence is free

107

Despise report, base scandals do outface,

108

And stand at mere defiance with disgrace.

Wendoll

109

Fie, fie! You talk too like a Puritan!

Anne

110

You have tempted me to mischief, Master Wendoll;

111

I have done I know not what. Well, you plead custom;

112

That which for want of wit I granted erst,

113

I now must yield through fear. Come, come, let’s in.

114

Once o’er shoes, we are straight o’er head in sin.

Wendoll

115

My jocund soul is joyful above measure;

116

I’ll be profuse in Frankford’s richest treasure.

Exeunt.

[Act IV. Scene 3]

[Another room in Frankford’s house]

Enter Cicely, Jenkin, and Spigot

Jenkin

1My mistress and Master Wendoll, my master, sup in her 2chamber tonight. Cicely, you are preferred from being the 3cook to be chambermaid. Of all the loves betwixt thee and me, 4tell me what thou think’st of this.

Cicely

5Mum; there’s an old proverb: when the cat’s away, 6the mouse may play.

Jenkin

7Now you talk of a cat, Cicely, I smell a rat.

Cicely

8Good words, Jenkin, lest you be called to answer 9them.

Jenkin

10Why, God make my mistress an honest woman! Are not 11these good words? Pray God my new master play not the 12knave with my old master! Is there any hurt in this? God send 13no villainy intended; and if they do sup together, pray God 14they do not lie together! God make my mistress chaste, and 15make us all His servants! What harm is there in all this? Nay, 16more; here in my hand; thou shalt never have my heart unless 17thou say Amen.

Cicely

Amen, I pray God, I say.

Enter serving-man

Serving man

19My mistress sends that you should make less noise, to 20lock up the doors, and see the household all got to bed. You, 21Jenkin, for this night are made the porter, to see the gates shut 22in.

Jenkin

23Thus by little and little I creep into office. Come, to 24kennel, my masters, to kennel; ‘tis eleven o’clock already.

Serving man

25When you have locked the gates in, you must send up the 26keys to my mistress.

Cicely

27Quickly, for God’s sake, Jenkin, for I must carry them! 28I am neither pillow nor bolster, but I know more than both.

Jenkin

29To bed, good Spigot; to bed, good honest serving- 30creatures; and let us sleep as snug as pigs in pease-straw!

Exeunt.

[Act IV. Scene 4]

[Outside Frankford’s house]

Enter Frankford and Nick

Frankford

Soft, soft; we have tied our geldings to a tree

Two flight-shot off, lest by their thundering hoofs

They blab our coming. Hear’st thou no noise?

Nicholas

4I hear nothing but the owl and you.

Frankford

So; now my watch’s hand points upon twelve,

And it is just midnight. Where are my keys?

Nicholas

7Here, sir.

Frankford

This is the key that opes my outward gate;

This, the hall door; this, the withdrawing-chamber;

But this, that door that’s bawd unto my shame,

Fountain and spring of all my bleeding thoughts,

Where the most hallowed order and true knot

Of nuptial sanctity hath been profan’d;

It leads to my polluted bed-chamber,

Once my terrestrial Heaven, now my earth’s hell,

The place where sins in all their ripeness dwell.

But I forget myself; now to my gate.

Nicholas

18It must ope with far less noise than Cripplegate, or your 19plot’s dash’d.

Frankford

So; reach me my dark lantern to the rest;

[They pass through the outer gate.]

Tread softly, softly.

Nicholas

22I will walk on eggs this pace.

Frankford

A general silence hath surpris’d the house,

And this is the last door. Astonishment,

Fear, and amazement beat upon my heart,

Even as a madman beats upon a drum.

Oh, keep my eyes, you Heavens, before I enter,

From any sight that may transfix my soul;

Or if there be so black a spectacle,

Oh, strike mine eyes stark blind; or if not so,

Lend me such patience to digest my grief,

That I may keep this white and virgin hand

From any violent outrage, or red murder;

And with that prayer I enter.

[Enter the bedroom.]

Nicholas

35Here’s a circumstance indeed! A man may be made a 36cuckold in the time he’s about it. And the case were mine, as 37’tis my master’s,—‘Sblood! (That makes me swear!)—

ErrorMetrica

I would have plac’d his action, enter’d there,

I would, I would.

[Enter Frankford.]

Frankford

Oh, oh!

Nicholas

Master! ‘Sblood! Master, master!

Frankford

O me unhappy! I have found them lying

Close in each other’s arms, and fast asleep.

But that I would not damn two precious souls

Bought with my Saviour’s blood, and send them, laden

With all their scarlet sins upon their backs,

Unto a fearful judgment, their two lives

Had met upon my rapier.

Nicholas

Master! What, have you left them sleeping still?

Let me go wake ‘em!

Frankford

Stay, let me pause awhile.

O God, O God, that it were possible

To undo things done; to call back yesterday!

That Time could turn up his swift sandy glass,

To untell the days, and to redeem these hours;

Or that the sun

Could, rising from the west, draw his coach backward,

Take from th’account of time so many minutes,

Till he had all these seasons call’d again,

Those minutes, and those actions done in them,

Even from her first offence; that I might take her

As spotless as an angel in my arms!

But, oh, I talk of things impossible,

And cast beyond the moon. God give me patience,

For I will in and wake them.

Exit.

Nicholas

Here’s patience perforce;

He needs must trot afoot that tires his horse.

Enter Wendoll, running over the stage in a nightgown, Frankford after him with his sword drawn; a maid in her smock stays his hand and clasps hold on him. He pauses for a while

Frankford

I thank thee, maid; thou, like an angel’s hand,

Hast stay’d me from a bloody sacrifice.—

Go, villain, and my wrongs sit on thy soul

As heavy as this grief doth upon mine.

When thou record’st my many courtesies,

And shalt compare them with thy treacherous heart,

Lay them together, weigh them equally,

‘Twill be revenge enough. Go, to thy friend

A Judas. Pray, pray, lest I live to see

Thee, Judas-like, hang’d on an elder-tree.

Enter Mistress Frankford in her smock, nightgown, and night attire

Anne

Oh, by what word, what title, or what name,

Shall I entreat your pardon? Pardon! Oh,

I am as far from hoping such sweet grace

As Lucifer from Heaven. To call you husband—

O me, most wretched!—I have lost that name;

I am no more your wife.

Nicholas

‘Sblood, sir, she sounds!

Frankford

[To Anne.]

Spare thou thy tears, for I will weep for thee;

And keep thy count’nance, for I’ll blush for thee.

Now, I protest, I think ‘tis I am tainted,

For I am most asham’d; and ‘tis more hard

For me to look upon thy guilty face

Than on the sun’s clear brow. What, would’st thou speak?

Anne

I would I had no tongue, no ears, no eyes,

No apprehension, no capacity.

When do you spurn me like a dog? When tread me

Under feet? When drag me by the hair?

Though I deserve a thousand thousand fold

More than you can inflict; yet, once my husband,

For womanhood, to which I am a shame,

Though once an ornament; even for His sake

That hath redeem’d our souls, mark not my face,

Nor hack me with your sword; but let me go

Perfect and undeformed to my tomb.

I am not worthy that I should prevail

In the least suit; no, not to speak to you,

100

Nor look on you, nor to be in your presence.

101

Yet, as an abject, this one suit I crave,

102

This granted, I am ready for my grave.

Frankford

103

My God, with patience arm me! Rise, nay, rise,

104

And I’ll debate with thee. Was it for want

105

Thou play’dst the strumpet? Wast thou not supplied

106

With every pleasure, fashion, and new toy,

107

Nay, even beyond my calling?

Anne

I was.

Frankford

108

Was it then disability in me?

109

Or in thine eye seem’d he a properer man?

Anne

Oh, no.

Frankford

110

Did I not lodge thee in my bosom,

111

Wear thee in my heart?

Anne

You did.

Frankford

112

I did, indeed; witness my tears, I did.

113

Go, bring my infants hither.

[Exit maid, returning with two children.]

O Nan, O Nan,

114

If neither fear of shame, regard of honour,

115

The blemish of my house, nor my dear love

116

Could have withheld thee from so lewd a fact,

117

Yet for these infants, these young, harmless souls,

118

On whose white brows thy shame is character’d,

119

And grows in greatness as they wax in years—

120

Look but on them, and melt away in tears.

121

Away with them; lest, as her spotted body

122

Hath stain’d their names with stripe of bastardy,

123

So her adulterous breath may blast their spirits

124

With her infectious thoughts. Away with them!

[Exeunt maid and children.]

Anne

125

[Kneeling.]

In this one life I die ten thousand deaths.

Frankford

126

Stand up, stand up. I will do nothing rashly;

127

I will retire awhile into my study,

128

And thou shalt hear thy sentence presently.

Exit.

Anne

129

‘Tis welcome, be it death. O me, base strumpet,

130

That having such a husband, such sweet children,

131

Must enjoy neither! Oh, to redeem mine honour,

132

I would have this hand cut off, these my breasts sear’d,

133

Be rack’d, strappado’d, put to any torment;

134

Nay, to whip but this scandal out, I would hazard

135

The rich and dear redemption of my soul!

136

He cannot be so base as to forgive me,

137

Nor I so shameless to accept his pardon.

138

O women, women, you that yet have kept

139

Your holy matrimonial vow unstain’d,

140

Make me your instance; when you tread awry,

141

Your sins, like mine, will on your conscience lie.

Enter Cicely, Jenkin, Spigot, and all the serving-men, as newly come out of bed

All

142O mistress, mistress! What have you done, mistress?

Nicholas

143What a caterwauling keep you here!

Jenkin

144O Lord, mistress, how comes this to pass? My master is 145run away in his shirt, and never so much as called me to bring 146his clothes after him.

Anne

147

[Aside.]

See what guilt is; here stand I in this place,

148

Asham’d to look my servants in the face.

Enter Master Frankford and Cranwell; whom seeing, she falls on her knees

Frankford

149

My words are regist’red in Heaven already;

150

With patience hear me. I’ll not martyr thee,

151

Nor mark thee for a strumpet; but with usage

152

Of more humility torment thy soul,

153

And kill thee even with kindness.

Cranwell

Master Frankford,—

Frankford

154

Good Master Cranwell.—Woman, hear thy judgment.

155

Go make thee ready in thy best attire;

156

Take with thee all thy gowns, all thy apparel;

157

Leave nothing that did ever call thee mistress,

158

Or by whose sight, being left here in the house,

159

I may remember such a woman by.

160

Choose thee a bed and hanging for thy chamber;

161

Take with thee everything which hath thy mark,

162

And get thee to my manor seven mile off,

163

Where live.—‘Tis thine; I freely give it thee.

164

My tenants by shall furnish thee with wains

165

To carry all thy stuff within two hours;

166

No longer will I limit thee my sight.

167

Choose which of all my servants thou lik’st best,

168

And they are thine to attend thee.

Anne

A mild sentence.

Frankford

169

But, as thou hop’st for Heaven, as thou believ’st

170

Thy name’s recorded in the book of life,

171

I charge thee never after this sad day

172

To see me, or to meet me, or to send,

173

By word, or writing, gift, or otherwise,

174

To move me, by thyself, or by thy friends;

175

Nor challenge any part in my two children.

176

So farewell, Nan; for we will henceforth be

177

As we had never seen, ne’er more shall see.

Anne

178

How full my heart is, in mine eyes appears;

179

What wants in words, I will supply in tears.

Frankford

180

Come, take your coach, your stuff; all must along.

181

Servants and all make ready; all begone.

182

It was thy hand cut two hearts out of one.

[Exeunt.]

[Act V. Scene 1]

[Near Sir Francis Acton’s house]

Enter Sir Charles, gentlemanlike, and his sister, gentlewomanlike.

Susan

Brother, why have you trick’d me like a bride,

Bought me this gay attire, these ornaments?

Forget you our estate, our poverty?

Charles

Call me not brother, but imagine me

Some barbarous outlaw, or uncivil kern;

For if thou shutt’st thy eye, and only hear’st

The words that I shall utter, thou shalt judge me

Some staring ruffian, not thy brother Charles.

Oh, sister—

Susan

Oh, brother, what doth this strange language mean?

Charles

Dost love me, sister? Wouldst thou see me live

A bankrupt beggar in the world’s disgrace,

And die indebted to mine enemies?

Wouldst thou behold me stand like a huge beam

In the world’s eye, a byword and a scorn?

It lies in thee of these to acquit me free,

And all my debt I may outstrip by thee.

Susan

By me? Why, I have nothing, nothing left;

I owe even for the clothes upon my back.

I am not worth—

Charles

Oh, sister, say not so;

It lies in you my downcast state to raise,

To make me stand on even points with the world.

Come, sister, you are rich; indeed you are,

And in your power you have, without delay,

Acton’s five hundred pounds back to repay.

Susan

Till now I had thought y’had lov’d me. By my honour,

Which I have kept as spotless as the moon,

I ne’er was mistress of that single doit

Which I reserv’d not to supply your wants;

And do ye think that I would hoard from you?

Now, by my hopes in Heaven, knew I the means

To buy you from the slavery of your debts

(Especially from Acton, whom I hate),

I would redeem it with my life or blood.

Charles

I challenge it, and, kindred set apart,

Thus, ruffian-like, I lay siege to thy heart.

What do I owe to Acton?

Susan

Why, some five hundred pounds; towards which, I swear,

In all the world I have not one denier.

Charles

It will not prove so. Sister, now resolve me:

What do you think (and speak your conscience)

Would Acton give, might he enjoy your bed?

Susan

He would not shrink to spend a thousand pound,

To give the Mountfords’ name so deep a wound.

Charles

A thousand pound! I but five hundred owe;

Grant him your bed, he’s paid with interest so.

Susan

Oh, brother!

Charles

Oh, sister, only this one way,

With that rich jewel you my debts may pay.

In speaking so my cold heart shakes with shame;

Nor do I woo you in a brother’s name,

But in a stranger’s. Shall I die in debt

To Acton, my grand foe, and you still wear

The precious jewel that he holds so dear?

Susan

My honour I esteem as dear and precious

As my redemption.

Charles

I esteem you, sister,

As dear, for so dear prizing it.

Susan

Will Charles

Have me cut off my hands and send them Acton,

Rip up my breast, and with my bleeding heart

Present him as a token?

Charles

Neither, sister;

But hear me in my strange assertion.

Thy honour and my soul are equal in my regard;

Nor will thy brother Charles survive thy shame.

His kindness, like a burden, hath surcharg’d me,

And under his good deeds I stooping go,

Not with an upright soul. Had I remain’d

In prison still, there doubtless I had died.

Then, unto him that freed me from that prison

Still do I owe this life. What mov’d my foe

To enfranchise me? ‘Twas, sister, for your love.

With full five hundred pounds he bought your love,

And shall he not enjoy it? Shall the weight

Of all this heavy burden lean on me,

And will you not bear part? You did partake

The joy of my release; will you not stand

In joint-bond bound to satisfy the debt?

Shall I be only charg’d?

Susan

But that I know

These arguments come from an honour’d mind,

As in your most extremity of need

Scorning to stand in debt to one you hate—

Nay, rather would engage your unsustain’d honour

Than to be held ingrate—I should condemn you.

I see your resolution, and assent;

So Charles will have me, and I am content.

Charles

For this I trick’d you up.

Susan

But here’s a knife,

To save my honour, shall slice out my life.

Charles

I know thou pleasest me a thousand times

More in thy resolution than thy grant.—

[Aside.]

Observe her love; to sooth it to my suit,

Her honour she will hazard, though not lose.

To bring me out of debt, her rigorous hand

Will pierce her heart. Oh wonder, that will choose,

Rather than stain her blood, her life to lose!—

Come, you sad sister to a woeful brother,

This is the gate. I’ll bear him such a present,

Such an acquittance for the knight to seal,

As will amaze his senses, and surprise

With admiration all his fantasies.

Enter Sir Francis Acton and Malby [at a distance]

Susan

Before his unchaste thoughts shall seize on me,

‘Tis here shall my imprison’d soul set free.

Francis

100

How! Mountford with his sister, hand in hand!

101

What miracle’s afoot?

Malby

It is a sight

102

Begets in me much admiration.

Charles

103

Stand not amaz’d to see me thus attended.

104

Acton, I owe thee money, and being unable

105

To bring thee the full sum in ready coin,

106

Lo, for thy more assurance here’s a pawn,

107

My sister, my dear sister, whose chaste honour

108

I prize above a million. Here; nay, take her;

109

She’s worth your money, man; do not forsake her.

Francis

110

[Aside.]

I would he were in earnest.

Susan

111

Impute it not to my immodesty;

112

My brother, being rich in nothing else

113

But in his interest that he hath in me,

114

According to his poverty hath brought you

115

Me, all his store; whom, howsoe’er you prize

116

As forfeit to your hand, he values highly,

117

And would not sell, but to acquit your debt,

118

For any emperor’s ransom.

Francis

[Aside.]

Stern heart, relent,

119

Thy former cruelty at length repent.

120

Was ever known, in any former age,

121

Such honourable, wrested courtesy?

122

Lands, honours, life, and all the world forgo,

123

Rather than stand engag’d to such a foe.

Charles

124

Acton, she is too poor to be thy bride,

125

And I too much oppos’d to be thy brother.

126

There, take her to thee; if thou hast the heart

127

To seize her as a rape or lustful prey,

128

To blur our house, that never yet was stain’d,

129

To murder her that never meant thee harm,

130

To kill me now, whom once thou sav’dst from death;—

131

Do them at once; on her all these rely,

132

And perish with her spotted chastity.

Francis

133

You overcome me in your love, Sir Charles.

134

I cannot be so cruel to a lady

135

I love so dearly. Since you have not spar’d

136

To engage your reputation to the world,

137

Your sister’s honour, which you prize so dear,

138

Nay, all the comfort which you hold on earth,

139

To grow out of my debt, being your foe,

140

Your honour’d thoughts, lo, thus I recompense.

141

Your metamorphos’d foe receives your gift

142

In satisfaction of all former wrongs.

143

This jewel I will wear here in my heart,

144

And where before I thought her, for her wants,

145

Too base to be my bride, to end all strife,

146

I seal you my dear brother, her my wife.

Susan

147

You still exceed us. I will yield to fate,

148

And learn to love, where I till now did hate.

Charles

149

With that enchantment you have charm’d my soul,

150

And made me rich even in those very words.

151

I pay no debt, but I am indebted more;

152

Rich in your love, I never can be poor.

Francis

153

All’s mine is yours; we are alike in state;

154

Let’s knit in love what was oppos’d in hate.

155

Come; for our nuptials we will straight provide,

156

Bless’d only in our brother and fair bride.

[Exeunt.]

[Act V. Scene 2]

[Frankford’s house]

Enter Cranwell, Frankford, and Nicholas

Cranwell

Why do you search each room about your house,

Now that you have dispatch’d your wife away?

Frankford

Oh, sir, to see that nothing may be left

That ever was my wife’s. I lov’d her dearly,

And when I do but think of her unkindness,

My thoughts are all in hell; to avoid which torment,

I would not have a bodkin or a cuff,

A bracelet, necklace, or rebato wire,

Nor anything that ever was call’d hers

Left me, by which I might remember her.

Seek round about.

Nicholas

‘Sblood, master; here’s her lute flung in a corner!

Frankford

Her lute! O God! Upon this instrument

Her fingers have ran quick division,

Sweeter than that which now divides our hearts.

These frets have made me pleasant, that have now

Frets of my heart-strings made. Oh, Master Cranwell,

Oft hath she made this melancholy wood,

Now mute and dumb for her disastrous chance,

Speak sweetly many a note, sound many a strain

To her own ravishing voice; which being well strung,

What pleasant strange airs have they jointly rung.

Post with it after her. Now nothing’s left;

Of her and hers I am at once bereft.

Nicholas

I’ll ride and overtake her, do my message,

And come back again.

[Exit.]

Cranwell

Meantime, sir, if you please,

I’ll to Sir Francis Acton, and inform him

Of what hath pass’d betwixt you and his sister.

Frankford

Do as you please. How ill am I bested,

To be a widower ere my wife be dead!

[Exeunt.]

[Act V. Scene 3]

[The road near Frankford’s manor-house]

Enter Mistress Frankford, with Jenkin, her maid Cicely, her coachman, and three carters

Anne

Bid my coach stay; why should I ride in state,

Being hurl’d so low down by the hand of fate?

A seat like to my fortunes let me have,

Earth for my chair, and for my bed a grave.

Jenkin

5Comfort, good mistress; you have watered your coach 6with tears already. You have but two mile now to go to your 7manor. A man cannot say by my old master Frankford as he 8may say by me, that he wants manors; for he has three or four, 9of which this is one that we are going to now.

Cicely

10Good mistress, be of good cheer; sorrow, you see, 11hurts you, but helps you not. We all mourn to see you so sad.

Carter

Mistress, I see some of my landlord’s men

Come riding post; ‘tis like he brings some news.

Anne

Comes he from Master Frankford, he is welcome;

So is his news, because they come from him.

Enter Nicholas

Nicholas

[Handing her the lute.]

There!

Anne

I know the lute. Oft have I sung to thee;

We are both out of tune, being out of time.

Nicholas

19Would that had been the worst instrument that e’er you 20played on. My master commends him unto ye; there’s all he 21can find that was ever yours. He hath nothing left that ever 22you could lay claim to but his own heart, and he could afford 23you that. All that I have to deliver you is this: he prays you to 24forget him, and so he bids you farewell.

Anne

I thank him; he is kind, and ever was.

All you that have true feeling for my grief,

That know my loss, and have relenting hearts,

Gird me about, and help me with your tears

To wash my spotted sins. My lute shall groan;

It cannot weep, but shall lament my moan.

[She plays and sings.]

Enter Wendoll [at a distance]

Wendoll

Pursu’d with horror of a guilty soul,

And with the sharp scourge of repentance lash’d,

I fly from mine own shadow. O my stars!

What have my parents in their lives deserv’d,

That you should lay this penance on their son?

When I but think of Master Frankford’s love,

And lay it to my treason, or compare

My murdering him for his relieving me,

It strikes a terror like a lightning’s flash

To scorch my blood up. Thus I, like the owl,

Asham’d of day, live in these shadowy woods,

Afraid of every leaf or murmuring blast,

Yet longing to receive some perfect knowledge

How he hath dealt with her.

[Sees Mistress Frankford.]

O my sad fate!

Here, and so far from home, and thus attended!

O God, I have divorc’d the truest turtles

That ever liv’d together, and, being divided,

In several places make their several moan;

She in the fields laments, and he at home.

So poets write that Orpheus made the trees

And stones to dance to his melodious harp,

Meaning the rustic and the barbarous hinds,

That had no understanding part in them;

So she from these rude carters tears extracts,

Making their flinty hearts with grief to rise,

And draw down rivers from their rocky eyes.

Anne

[To Nicholas.]

If you return unto my master, say

(Though not from me, for I am all unworthy

To blast his name so with a strumpet’s tongue)

That you have seen me weep, wish myself dead.

Nay, you may say too, for my vow is pass’d,

Last night you saw me eat and drink my last.

This to your master you may say and swear,

For it is writ in Heaven, and decreed here.

Nicholas

I’ll say you wept; I’ll swear you made me sad.

Why, how now, eyes? What now? What’s here to do?

I’m gone, or I shall straight turn baby too.

Wendoll

[Aside.]

I cannot weep, my heart is all on fire;

Curs’d be the fruits of my unchaste desire!

Anne

Go, break this lute upon my coach’s wheel,

As the last music that I e’er shall make:

Not as my husband’s gift, but my farewell

To all earth’s joys; and so your master tell.

Nicholas

If I can for crying.

Wendoll

[Aside.]

Grief, have done,

Or, like a madman, I shall frantic run.

Anne

You have beheld the woefull’st wretch on earth,

A woman made of tears. Would you had words

To express but what you see! My inward grief

No tongue can utter; yet unto your power

You may describe my sorrow, and disclose

To thy sad master my abundant woes.

Nicholas

I’ll do your commendations.

Anne

Oh no!

I dare not so presume; nor to my children.

I am disclaim’d in both; alas, I am.

Oh, never teach them, when they come to speak,

To name the name of mother. Chide their tongue,

If they by chance light on that hated word;

Tell them ‘tis naught; for when that word they name,

Poor, pretty souls, they harp on their own shame.

Wendoll

[Aside.]

To recompense her wrongs, what canst thou do?

Thou hast made her husbandless, and childless too.

Anne

I have no more to say. Speak not for me;

Yet you may tell your master what you see.

Nicholas

I’ll do’t.

Exit.

Wendoll

[Aside.]

I’ll speak to her, and comfort her in grief.

Oh, but her wound cannot be cur’d with words!

No matter, though; I’ll do my best good will

To work a cure on her whom I did kill.

Anne

So, now unto my coach, then to my home,

100

So to my death-bed; for from this sad hour,

101

I never will nor eat, nor drink, nor taste

102

Of any cates that may preserve my life.

103

I never will nor smile, nor sleep, nor rest;

104

But when my tears have wash’d my black soul white,

105

Sweet Saviour, to Thy hands I yield my sprite.

Wendoll

106

[Approaching.]

Oh, Mistress Frankford!

Anne

Oh, for God’s sake, fly!

107

The devil doth come to tempt me ere I die.

108

My coach! This sin that with an angel’s face

109

Conjur’d mine honour, till he sought my wrack,

110

In my repentant eye seems ugly black.

Exeunt all, except Wendoll and Jenkin, the carters whistling

Jenkin

111What, my young master, that fled in his shirt! How come 112you by your clothes again? You have made our house in a 113sweet pickle, ha’ ye not, think you? What, shall I serve you 114still, or cleave to the old house?

Wendoll

115

Hence, slave! Away with thy unseason’d mirth!

116

Unless thou canst shed tears, and sigh, and howl,

117

Curse thy sad fortunes, and exclaim on fate,

118

Thou art not for my turn.

Jenkin

119Marry, and you will not, another will. Farewell, and be 120hanged! Would you had never come to have kept this coil 121within our doors! We shall ha’ you run away like a sprite 122again.

[Exit.]

Wendoll

123

She’s gone to death; I live to want and woe,

124

Her life, her sins, and all upon my head.

125

And I must now go wander, like a Cain,

126

In foreign countries and remoted climes,

127

Where the report of my ingratitude

128

Cannot be heard. I’ll over first to France,

129

And so to Germany and Italy;

130

Where, when I have recover’d, and by travel

131

Gotten those perfect tongues, and that these rumours

132

May in their height abate, I will return;

133

And I divine, however now dejected,

134

My worth and parts being by some great man prais’d,

135

At my return I may in court be rais’d.

Exit.

[Act V. Scene 4]

[Before Frankford’s manor-house]

Enter Sir Francis, Sir Charles, Cranwell, Malby, and Susan

Francis

Brother, and now my wife, I think these troubles

Fall on my head by justice of the Heavens,

For being so strict to you in your extremities;

But we are now aton’d. I would my sister

Could with like happiness o’ercome her griefs

As we have ours.

Susan

You tell us, Master Cranwell, wondrous things

Touching the patience of that gentleman,

With what strange virtue he demeans his grief.

Cranwell

I told you what I was a witness of;

It was my fortune to lodge there that night.

Francis

Oh, that same villain, Wendoll! ‘Twas his tongue

That did corrupt her; she was of herself

Chaste and devoted well. Is this the house?

Cranwell

Yes, sir; I take it here your sister lies.

Francis

My brother Frankford show’d too mild a spirit

In the revenge of such a loathed crime.

Less than he did, no man of spirit could do.

I am so far from blaming his revenge,

That I commend it. Had it been my case,

Their souls at once had from their breasts been freed;

Death to such deeds of shame is the due meed.

Enter Jenkin and Cicely

Jenkin

23Oh, my mistress, mistress, my poor mistress!

Cicely

24Alas, that ever I was born! What shall I do for my poor 25mistress?

Charles

26Why, what of her?

Jenkin

27O Lord, sir, she no sooner heard that her brother and her 28friends were come to see how she did, but she, for very shame 29of her guilty conscience, fell into such a swoon that we had 30much ado to get life in her.

Susan

Alas, that she should bear so hard a fate!

Pity it is repentance comes too late.

Francis

33Is she so weak in body?

Jenkin

34Oh, sir, I can assure you there’s no hope of life in her, 35for she will take no sustenance; she hath plainly starved herself, 36and now she’s as lean as a lath. She ever looks for the 37good hour. Many gentlemen and gentlewomen of the country 38are come to comfort her.

[Act V. Scene 5]

[Mistress Frankford’s bedroom]

Enter Mistress Frankford in her bed

Malby

How fare you, Mistress Frankford?

Anne

Sick, sick, oh, sick! Give me some air, I pray you.

Tell me, oh, tell me, where’s Master Frankford?

Will not he deign to see me ere I die?

Malby

Yes, Mistress Frankford; divers gentlemen,

Your loving neighbours, with that just request

Have mov’d, and told him of your weak estate;

Who, though with much ado to get belief,

Examining of the general circumstance,

Seeing your sorrow and your penitence,

And hearing therewithal the great desire

You have to see him ere you left the world,

He gave to us his faith to follow us,

And sure he will be here immediately.

Anne

You have half reviv’d me with the pleasing news;

Raise me a little higher in my bed.

Blush I not, brother Acton? Blush I not, Sir Charles?

Can you not read my fault writ in my cheek?

Is not my crime there? Tell me, gentlemen.

Charles

Alas, good mistress, sickness hath not left you

Blood in your face enough to make you blush.

Anne

Then sickness, like a friend, my fault would hide.

Is my husband come? My soul but tarries

His arrive; then I am fit for Heaven.

Francis

I came to chide you, but my words of hate

Are turn’d to pity and compassionate grief.

I came to rate you, but my brawls, you see,

Melt into tears, and I must weep by thee.

Here’s Master Frankford now.

Enter Frankford

Frankford

Good morrow, brother; morrow, gentlemen.

God, that hath laid this cross upon our heads,

Might, had He pleas’d, have made our cause of meeting

On a more fair and more contented ground;

But He that made us made us to this woe.

Anne

And is he come? Methinks that voice I know.

Frankford

How do you, woman?

Anne

Well, Master Frankford, well; but shall be better,

I hope, within this hour. Will you vouchsafe,

Out of your grace and your humanity,

To take a spotted strumpet by the hand?

Frankford

This hand once held my heart in faster bonds

Than now ‘tis gripp’d by me. God pardon them

That made us first break hold.

Anne

Amen, amen.

Out of zeal to Heaven, whither I’m now bound,

I was so impudent to wish you here,

And once more beg your pardon. O good man,

And father to my children, pardon me!

Pardon, oh, pardon me! My fault so heinous is,

That if you in this world forgive it not,

Heaven will not clear it in the world to come.

Faintness hath so usurp’d upon my knees

That kneel I cannot; but on my heart’s knees

My prostrate soul lies thrown down at your feet,

To beg your gracious pardon. Pardon, oh, pardon me!

Frankford

As freely, from the low depth of my soul,

As my Redeemer hath forgiven His death,

I pardon thee. I will shed tears for thee,

Pray with thee; and, in mere pity of thy weak estate,

I’ll wish to die with thee.

All

So do we all.

Nicholas

[Aside.]

So will not I;

I’ll sigh and sob, but, by my faith, not die.

Francis

O Master Frankford, all the near alliance

I lose by her shall be suppli’d in thee.

You are my brother by the nearest way;

Her kindred hath fall’n off, but yours doth stay.

Frankford

[To Anne.]

Even as I hope for pardon at that day

When the great Judge of Heaven in scarlet sits,

So be thou pardon’d. Though thy rash offence

Divorc’d our bodies, thy repentant tears

Unite our souls.

Charles

Then comfort, Mistress Frankford;

You see your husband hath forgiven your fall.

Then rouse your spirits and cheer your fainting soul.

Susan

How is it with you?

Francis

How d'ye feel yourself?

Anne

Not of this world.

Frankford

I see you are not, and I weep to see it.

My wife, the mother to my pretty babes—

Both those lost names I do restore thee back,

And with this kiss I wed thee once again.

Though thou art wounded in thy honour’d name,

And with that grief upon thy death-bed liest,

Honest in heart, upon my soul, thou diest.

Anne

Pardon’d on earth, soul, thou in Heaven art free;

Once more thy wife—dies thus embracing thee.

Frankford

New married, and new widow’d. Oh, she’s dead;

And a cold grave must be her nuptial bed.

Charles

Sir, be of good comfort; and your heavy sorrow

Part equally amongst us. Storms divided

Abate their force, and with less rage are guided.

Cranwell

Do, Master Frankford; he that hath least part

Will find enough to drown one troubled heart.

Francis

Peace with thee, Nan. Brothers and gentlemen,

All we that can plead interest in her grief,

Bestow upon her body funeral tears.

Brother, had you with threats and usage bad

Punish’d her sin, the grief of her offence

Had not with such true sorrow touch’d her heart.

Frankford

I see it had not; therefore, on her grave

Will I bestow this funeral epitaph,

Which on her marble tomb shall be engrav’d.

100

In golden letters shall these words be fill’d:

101

Here lies she whom her husband’s kindness kill’d.

Finis

102

An honest crew, disposed to be merry,

103

Came to a tavern by, and call’d for wine.

104

The drawer brought it, smiling like a cherry,

105

And told them it was pleasant, neat, and fine.

106

‘Taste it,’ quoth one. He did so; ‘Fie,’ quoth he,

107

‘This wine was good; now ‘t runs too near the lee.’

108

Another sipp’d, to give the wine his due,

109

And said unto the rest it drunk too flat;

110

The third said it was old; the fourth, too new;

111

‘Nay,’ quoth the fifth, ‘the sharpness likes me not.’

112

Thus, gentlemen, you see how in one hour

113

The wine was new, old, flat, sharp, sweet, and sour.

114

Unto this wine we do allude our play,

115

Which some will judge too trivial, some too grave.

116

You as our guests we entertain this day,

117

And bid you welcome to the best we have.

118

Excuse us then; good wine may be disgrac’d

119

When every several mouth hath sundry taste.