Sir Charles Mountford.
Had this proceeded from my father, he
That by the law of nature is most bound
In offices of love, it had deserved
My best employment to requite that grace:
Had it proceeded from my friends or him,
From them this action had deserved my life:
And from a stranger more; because from such
There is less expectation[35]of good deeds.
But he, nor father, nor ally, nor friend,
More than a stranger, both remote in blood
And in his heart opposed my enemy,—
That this high bounty should proceed from him,—
Oh, there I lose myself! What should I say,
What think, what do, his bounty to repay?
Susan.
You, wonder, I am sure, whence this strange kindness
Proceeds in Acton. I will tell you, brother:
He dotes on me, and oft hath sent me gifts,
Letters and tokens: I refused them all.
Sir Charles Mountford.
I have enough, though poor; my heart is set,
In one rich gift to pay back all my debt.
[Exeunt.
EnterFrankford,andNicholaswith 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; [Gives him letter.
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.
EnterMistressFrankford, Cranwell, Wendoll,andJenkin.
Mistress Frankford.
Sirrah, ’tis six o’clock already struck!
Go bid them spread the cloth and serve in supper.
Jenkin.
It shall be done, forsooth, mistress. Where’s Spigot, the butler, to give us out salt and trenchers? [Exit.
Wendoll.
We that have been a-hunting all the day
Come with preparèd stomachs. Master Frankford,
We wished 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.
But I know too much bad. [Aside.
EnterJenkinandButlerwith a table-cloth, bread, trenchers, and salt.
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.
[ExeuntJenkinandButler.
Frankford.
Did not more weighty business of my own
Hold me away, I would have laboured peace
Betwixt them, with all care; indeed I would, sir.
Mistress Frankford.
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,
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 to-night. 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?
Re-enterNicholas.
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 tried to-morrow
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?
Re-enterJenkinwith boots and spurs.
Mistress Frankford.
I hope your business craves no such despatch
That you must ride to-night.
Wendoll.
[Aside.] I hope it doth.
Frankford.
God’s me! no such despatch!
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 pleasures of my house.
Wendoll.
Lord! Master Frankford, will you ride to-night?
The ways are dangerous.
Frankford.
Therefore will I ride
Appointed well; and so shall Nick my man.
Mistress Frankford.
I’ll call you up by five o’clock to-morrow.
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.
Mistress Frankford.
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[36]my friend, and be a trouble
To the whole house! Nick!
Nicholas.
Anon, sir.
Frankford.
Bring forth my gelding.—[ExitNicholas.]—As you love me, sir,
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.
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. My pleasure is
We will not sup abroad so publicly,
But in your private chamber, Mistress Frankford.
Mistress Frankford.
O, 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 spared 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.
I will make bold: good night. [Exit.
Wendoll.
How all conspire
To make our bosom sweet, and full entire!
Come, Nan, I prythee let us sup within.
Mistress Frankford.
Oh, what a clog unto the soul is sin!
We pale offenders are still full of fear;
Every suspicious eye brings danger near,
When they whose clear hearts from offence are free
Despise report, base scandals do outface,
And stand at mere defiance with disgrace.
Wendoll.
Fie, fie! you talk too like a puritan.
Mistress Frankford.
You have tempted me to mischief, Master Wendoll:
I have done I know not what. Well, you plead custom;
That which for want of wit I granted erst,
I now must yield through fear. Come, come, let’s in;
Once o’er shoes, we are straight o’er head in sin.
Wendoll.
My jocund soul is joyful above measure;
I’ll be profuse in Frankford’s richest treasure.
[Exeunt.
EnterCicely, Jenkin,andButler.
Jenkin.
My mistress and Master Wendoll, my master, sup in her chamber to-night. Cicely, you are preferred from being the cook to be chambermaid: of all the loves betwixt thee and me, tell me what thou thinkest of this?
Cicely.
Mum; there’s an old proverb,—when the cat’s away, the mouse may play.
Jenkin.
Now you talk of a cat, Cicely, I smell a rat.
Cicely.
Good words, Jenkin, lest you be called to answer them.
Jenkin.
Why, God make my mistress an honest woman! are not these good words? Pray God my new master play not the knave with my old master! is there any hurt in this? God send no villainy intended! and, if they do sup together, pray God they do not lie together! God make my mistress chaste, and make us all His servants! what harm is there in all this? Nay, more; here is my hand, thou shalt never have my heart unless thou say Amen.
Cicely.
Amen, I pray God, I say.
EnterServing-man.
Serving-man.
My mistress sends that you should make less noise, to lock up the doors, and see the household all got to bed: you, Jenkin, for this night are made the porter to see the gates shut in.
Jenkin.
Thus, by little and little, I creep into office. Come, to kennel, my masters, to kennel; ’tis eleven o’clock, already.
Serving-man.
When you have locked the gates in, you must send up the keys to my mistress.
Cicely.
Quickly, for God’s sake, Jenkin, for I must carry them. I am neither pillow nor bolster, but I know more than both.
Jenkin.
To bed, good Spigot; to bed, good honest serving-creatures; and let us sleep as snug as pigs in pease-straw.
[Exeunt.
EnterFrankfordandNicholas.
Frankford.
Soft, soft; we have tied our geldings to a tree,
Two flight-shot[37]off, lest by their thundering hoofs
They blab our coming back. Hear’st thou no noise?
Nicholas.
Hear! I hear nothing but the owl and you.
Frankford.
So; now my watch’s hand points upon twelve,
And it is dead midnight. Where are my keys?
Nicholas.
Here, sir.
Frankford.
This is the key that opes my outward gate;
This is 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 profaned;
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.
It must ope with far less noise than Cripple-gate, or your plot’s dashed.
Frankford.
So, reach me my dark lanthorn to the rest;
Tread softly, softly.
Nicholas.
I will walk on eggs this pace.
Frankford.
A general silence hath surprised the house,
And this is the last door. Astonishment,
Fear, and amazement play against 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.
[Exeunt.
Nicholasdiscovered.
Nicholas.
Here’s a circumstance.
A man be made cuckold in the time
That he’s about it. An the case were mine,
As ’tis my master’s,—’sblood that he makes me swear!—
I would have placed his action, entered there;
I would, I would.
EnterFrankford.
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.
’Sblood, master, what, have you left them sleeping still? let me go wake them.
Frankford.
Stay, let me pause a while.
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 the account of time so many minutes,
Till he had all these seasons called 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.[38]God give me patience!
For I will in and wake them. [Exit.
Nicholas.
Here’s patience perforce;[39]
He needs must trot afoot that tires his horse.
EnterWendoll,running over the stage in a night-gown,Frankfordafter him with a sword drawn; aMaid-servantin her smock stays his hand, and clasps hold on him.Frankfordpauses for a while.
Frankford.
I thank thee, maid; thou, like the angel’s hand,
Hast stayed me from a bloody sacrifice.[40][ExitMaid-servant.
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, hanged on an elder-tree.
EnterMistressFrankfordin her night attire.
Mistress Frankford.
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 swoons.
Frankford.
Spare thou thy tears, for I will weep for thee:
And keep thy countenance, for I’ll blush for thee.
Now, I protest, I think ’tis I am tainted,
For I am most ashamed; and ’tis more hard
For me to look upon thy guilty face,
Than on the sun’s clear brow. What wouldst thou speak?
Mistress Frankford.
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 your 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 redeemed our souls, mark not my face,
Nor hack me with your sword; but let me go
Perfect and undeformèd to my tomb.
I am not worthy that I should prevail
In the least suit; no, not to speak to you,
Nor look on you, nor to be in your presence.
Yet, as an abject, this one suit I crave;
This granted, I am ready for my grave. [Kneels.
Frankford.
My God, with patience arm me! Rise, nay, rise,
And I’ll debate with thee. Was it for want
Thou playedst the strumpet? Wast thou not supplied
With every pleasure, fashion, and new toy,
Nay, even beyond my calling?
Mistress Frankford.
I was.
Frankford.
Was it then disability in me;
Or in thine eye seemed he a properer man?
Mistress Frankford.
Oh, no.
Frankford.
Did not I lodge thee in my bosom?
Wear thee here in my heart?
Mistress Frankford.
You did.
Frankford.
I did, indeed; witness my tears I did.
Go, bring my infants hither.
[EnterServantwith twoChildren.]
O Nan! O Nan!
If neither fear of shame, regard of honour,
The blemish of my house, nor my dear love
Could have withheld thee from so lewd a fact,
Yet for these infants, these young harmless souls,
On whose white brows thy shame is charactered,
And grows in greatness as they wax in years,—
Look but on them, and melt away in tears.
Away with them! lest, as her spotted body
Hath stained their names with stripe of bastardy,
So her adulterous breath may blast their spirits
With her infectious thoughts. Away with them!
[ExeuntServantandChildren.
Mistress Frankford.
In this one life I die ten thousand deaths.
Frankford.
Stand up, stand up; I will do nothing rashly;
I will retire a while into my study,
And thou shalt hear thy sentence presently. [Exit.
Mistress Frankford.
’Tis welcome, be it death. O me, base strumpet,
That, having such a husband, such sweet children,
Must enjoy neither! Oh, to redeem my honour,
I would have this hand cut off, these my breasts seared,
Be racked, strappadoed, put to any torment:
Nay, to whip but this scandal out, I would hazard
The rich and dear redemption of my soul.
He cannot be so base as to forgive me;
Nor I so shameless to accept his pardon.
O women, women, you that yet have kept
Your holy matrimonial vow unstained,
Make me your instance: when you tread awry,
Your sins, like mine, will on your conscience lie.
EnterCicely, Jenkin,and all the serving-men as newly come out of bed.
All.
O mistress, mistress, what have you done, mistress?
Nicholas.
’Sblood, what a caterwauling keep you here!
Jenkin.
O Lord, mistress, how comes this to pass? My master is run away in his shirt, and never so much as called me to bring his clothes after him.
Mistress Frankford.
See what guilt is! here stand I in this place,
Ashamed to look my servants in the face.
EnterFrankfordandCranwell,whom seeing she falls on her knees.
Frankford.
My words are registered in Heaven already,
With patience hear me. I’ll not martyr thee,
Nor mark thee for a strumpet; but with usage
Of more humility torment thy soul,
And kill thee even with kindness.
Cranwell.
Master Frankford——
Frankford.
Good Master Cranwell. Woman, hear thy judgment.
Go make thee ready in thy best attire;
Take with thee all thy gowns, all thy apparel;
Leave nothing that did ever call thee mistress,
Or by whose sight, being left here in the house,
I may remember such a woman by.
Choose thee a bed and hangings for thy chamber;
Take with thee every thing that, hath thy mark,
And get thee to my manor seven mile off,
Where live; ’tis thine; I freely give it thee.
My tenants by shall furnish thee with wains
To carry all thy stuff, within two hours,—
No longer will I limit thee my sight.
Choose which of all my servants thou likest best,
And they are thine to attend thee.
Mistress Frankford.
A mild sentence.
Frankford.
But, as thou hopest for Heaven, as thou believest
Thy name’s recorded in the book of life,
I charge thee never, after this sad day,
To see me, or to meet me, or to send
By word or writing, gift, or otherwise,
To move me, by thyself, or by thy friends;
Nor challenge any part in my two children.
So, farewell, Nan! for we will henceforth be
As we had never seen, ne’er more shall see.
Mistress Frankford.
How full my heart is, in mine eyes appears;
What wants in words, I will supply in tears.
Frankford.
Come, take your coach, your stuff; all must along;
Servants and all, make ready; all be gone.
It was thy hand cut two hearts out of one.
[Exeunt.
EnterSirCharles Mountford,andSusan,both well dressed.
Susan.
Brother, why have you tricked me like a bride,
Bought me this gay attire, these ornaments?
Forget you our estate, our poverty?
Sir Charles Mountford.
Call me not brother, but imagine me
Some barbarous outlaw, or uncivil kern;[41]
For if thou shutt’st thy eye, and only hearest
The words that I shall utter, thou shalt judge me
Some staring ruffian, not thy brother Charles.
O sister!——
Susan.
O brother, what doth this strange language mean?
Sir Charles Mountford.
Dost love me, sister? wouldst thou see me live
A bankrupt beggar in the world’s disgrace,
And die indebted to my enemies?
Wouldst thou behold me stand like a huge beam
In the world’s eye, a bye-word and a scorn?
It lies in thee of these to acquit me free,
And all my debt I may out-strip by thee.
Susan.
By me! why, I have nothing, nothing left;
I owe even for the clothes upon my back;
I am not worth——
Sir Charles Mountford.
O 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 pound back to repay.
Susan.
Till now I had thought you had loved me. By my honour
(Which I have kept as spotless as the moon),
I ne’er was mistress of that single doit
Which I reserved not to supply your wants;
And do you 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.
Sir Charles Mountford.
I challenge it; and, kindred set apart,
Thus, ruffian-like, I lay siege to your 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.[42]
Sir Charles Mountford.
It will not prove so. Sister, now resolve[43]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.
Sir Charles Mountford.
A thousand pound! I but five hundred owe;
Grant him your bed, he’s paid with interest so.
Susan.
O brother!
Sir Charles Mountford.
O sister! only this one way,
With that rich jewel you my debts may pay.
In speaking this 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.
Sir Charles Mountford.
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?
Sir Charles Mountford.
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 burthen hath surcharged me,
And under his good deeds I stooping go,
Not with an upright soul. Had I remained
In prison still, there doubtless I had died:
Then, unto him that freed me from that prison,
Still do I owe this life. What moved 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 burthen lean on me,
And will not you 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 charged?
Susan.
But that I know
These arguments come from an honoured mind,
As in your most extremity of need
Scorning to stand in debt to one you hate,—
Nay, rather would engage your unstained 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.
Sir Charles Mountford.
For this I tricked you up.
Susan.
But here’s a knife,
To save mine honour, shall slice out my life.
Sir Charles Mountford.
Ay! know thou pleasest me a thousand times
More in that resolution than thy grant.—
Observe her love; to soothe 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. O wonder! that will choose,
Rather than stain her blood, her life to lose.—
Come, you sad sister to a woful 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.
Susan.
Before his unchaste thoughts shall seize on me,
’Tis here shall my imprisoned soul set free.
EnterSirFrancis ActonandMalby.
Sir Francis Acton.
How! Mountford with his sister, hand in hand!
What miracle’s afoot?
Malby.
It is a sight
Begets in me much admiration.
Sir Charles Mountford.
Stand not amazed to see me thus attended:
Acton, I owe thee money, and being unable
To bring thee the full sum in ready coin,
Lo! for thy more assurance, here’s a pawn,—
My sister, my dear sister, whose chaste honour
I prize above a million: here, nay, take her;
She’s worth your money, man; do not forsake her.
Sir Francis Acton.
I would he were in earnest!
Susan.
Impute it not to my immodesty:
My brother being rich in nothing else
But in his interest that he hath in me,
According to his poverty hath brought you
Me, all his store; whom howsoe’er you prize
As forfeit to your hand, he values highly,
And would not sell, but to acquit your debt,
For any emperor’s ransom.
Sir Francis Acton.
Stern heart, relent;
Thy former cruelty at length repent.
Was ever known, in any former age,
Such honourable wrested courtesy?
Lands, honours, life, and all the world forego,
Rather than stand engaged to such a foe. [Aside.
Sir Charles Mountford.
Acton, she is too poor to be thy bride,
And I too much opposed to be thy brother.
There, take her to thee: if thou hast the heart
To seize her as a rape, or lustful prey;
To blur our house, that never yet was stained;
To murder her that never meant thee harm;
To kill me now, whom once thou savedst from death,
Do them at once: on her all these rely,
And perish with her spotted chastity.
Sir Francis Acton.
You overcome me in your love, Sir Charles;
I cannot be so cruel to a lady
I love so dearly. Since you have not spared
To engage your reputation to the world,
Your sister’s honour, which you prize so dear,
Nay, all the comforts which you hold on earth,
To grow out of my debt, being your foe,
Your honoured thoughts, lo! thus I recompense:
Your metamorphosed foe receives your gift
In satisfaction of all former wrongs.
This jewel I will wear here in my heart;
And, where before I thought her for her wants
Too base to be my bride, to end all strife,
I seal you my dear brother, her my wife.
Susan.
You still exceed us: I will yield to fate,
And learn to love, where I till now did hate.
Sir Charles Mountford.
With that enchantment you have charmed my soul,
And made me rich even in those very words:
I pay no debt, but am indebted more;
Rich in your love, I never can be poor.
Sir Francis Acton.
All’s mine is yours; we are alike in state,
Let’s knit in love what was opposed in hate.
Come! for our nuptials we will straight provide,
Blest only in our brother and fair bride.
[Exeunt.
EnterCranwell, Frankford,andNicholas.
Cranwell.
Why do you search each room about your house,
Now that you have despatched your wife away?
Frankford.
O sir, to see that nothing may be left
That ever was my wife’s. I loved 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[44]wire;
Nor any thing that ever was called 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 run 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. O 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.
Mean time, sir, if you please,
I’ll to Sir Francis Acton, and inform him
Of what hath passed 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.
EnterMistressFrankford,withJenkin, Cicely,aCoachman,and threeCarters.
Mistress Frankford.
Bid my coach stay: why should I ride in state,
Being hurled 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.
Comfort, good mistress; you have watered your coach with tears already: you have but two mile now to go to your manor. A man cannot say by my old master Frankford as he may say by me, that he wants manors;[45]for he hath three or four, of which this is one that we are going to now.
Cicely.
Good mistress, be of good cheer; sorrow, you see, hurts you, but helps you not: we all mourn to see you so sad.
Carter.
Mistress, I spy one of my landlord’s men
Come riding post: ’tis like he brings some news.
Mistress Frankford.
Comes he from Master Frankford, he is welcome;
So are his news because they come from him.
EnterNicholas.
Nicholas.
[Presenting lute.] There.
Mistress Frankford.
I know the lute; oft have I sung to thee:
We both are out of tune, both out of time.
Nicholas.
Would that had been the worst instrument that e’er you played on. My master commends him to ye; there’s all he can find that was ever yours: he hath nothing left that ever you could lay claim to but his own heart, and he could afford you that. All that I have to deliver you is this: he prays you to forget him, and so he bids you farewell.
Mistress Frankford.
I thank him: he is kind, and ever was.
All you that have true feeling of 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.
EnterWendoll.
Wendoll.[46]
Pursued with horror of a guilty soul,
And with the sharp scourge of repentance lashed,
I fly from my own shadow. O my stars!
What have my parents in their lives deserved,
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,
Ashamed 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. [SeesMistressFrankford.] O my sad fate!
Here, and so far from home, and thus attended!
O God! I have divorced the truest turtles
That ever lived 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.
Mistress Frankford.
[ToNicholas.] If you return unto your 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 passed,
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.
I cannot weep, my heart is all on fire:
Curst be the fruits of my unchaste desire!
Mistress Frankford.
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 joy; and so your master tell.
Nicholas.
If I can for crying.
Wendoll.
Grief, have done,
Or like a madman I shall frantic run.