Wendoll.
[Aside.] I am bound unto your husband, and you too.
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,
The swift Fates drag me at their chariot-wheel,
And hurry me to mischief. Speak I must;
Injure myself, wrong her, deceive his trust.
Mistress Frankford.
Are you not well, sir, that you seem thus troubled?
There is sedition in your countenance.
Wendoll.
And in my heart, fair angel, chaste and wise.
I love you: start not, speak not, answer not.
I love you: nay, let me speak the rest:
Bid me to swear, and I will call to record
The host of Heaven.
Mistress Frankford.
The host of Heaven forbid
Wendoll should hatch such a disloyal thought!
Wendoll.
Such is my fate; to this suit I was born,
To wear rich pleasure’s crown, or fortune’s scorn.
Mistress Frankford.
My husband loves you.
Wendoll.
I know it.
Mistress Frankford.
He esteems you
Even as his brain, his eye-ball, or his heart.
Wendoll.
I have tried it.
Mistress Frankford.
His purse is your exchequer, and his table
Doth freely serve you.
Wendoll.
So I have found it.
Mistress Frankford.
O! with what face of brass, what brow of steel,
Can you, unblushing, speak this to the face
Of the espoused wife of so dear a friend?
It is my husband that maintains your state;
Will you dishonour him that in your power
Hath left his whole affairs? I am his wife,
It is to me you speak.
Wendoll.
O speak no more!
For more than this I know, and have recorded
Within the red-leaved table of my heart.
Fair, and of all beloved, I was not fearful
Bluntly to give my life into your hand,
And at one hazard all my earthly means.
Go, tell your husband; he will turn me off,
And I am then undone. I care not, I;
’Twas for your sake. Perchance in rage he’ll kill me:
I care not, ’twas for you. Say I incur
The general name of villain through the world,
Of traitor to my friend; I care not, I.
Beggary, shame, death, scandal, and reproach,
For you I’ll hazard all: why, what care I?
For you I’ll live, and in your love I’ll die.
Mistress Frankford.
You move me, sir, to passion and to pity.
The love I bear my husband is as precious
As my soul’s health.
Wendoll.
I love your husband too,
And for his love I will engage my life:
Mistake me not, the augmentation
Of my sincere affection borne to you
Doth no whit lessen my regard of him.
I will be secret, lady, close as night;
And not the light of one small glorious star
Shall shine here in my forehead, to bewray
That act of night.
Mistress Frankford.
What shall I say?
My soul is wandering, and hath lost her way.
Oh, Master Wendoll! Oh!
Wendoll.
Sigh not, sweet saint;
For every sigh you breathe draws from my heart
A drop of blood.
Mistress Frankford.
I ne’er offended yet:
My fault, I fear, will in my brow be writ.
Women that fall, not quite bereft of grace,
Have their offences noted in their face.
I blush and am ashamed. Oh, Master Wendoll,
Pray God I be not born to curse your tongue,
That hath enchanted me! This maze I am in
I fear will prove the labyrinth of sin.
Re-enterNicholasbehind.
Wendoll.
The path of pleasure, and the gate to bliss,
Which on your lips I knock at with a kiss.
Nicholas.
[Aside.] I’ll kill the rogue.
Wendoll.
Your husband is from home, your bed’s no blab.
Nay, look not down and blush.
[ExeuntWendollandMistressFrankford.
Nicholas.
Zounds! I’ll stab.
Ay, Nick, was it thy chance to come just in the nick?
I love my master, and I hate that slave:
I love my mistress, but these tricks I like not.
My master shall not pocket up this wrong;
I’ll eat my fingers first. What say’st thou, metal?
Does not the rascal Wendoll go on legs
That thou must cut off? Hath he not ham-strings
That thou must hough? Nay, metal, thou shalt stand
To all I say. I’ll henceforth turn a spy,
And watch them in their close conveyances.
I never looked for better of that rascal,
Since he came miching[20]first into our house:
It is that Satan hath corrupted her,
For she was fair and chaste. I’ll have an eye
In all their gestures. Thus I think of them,
If they proceed as they have done before:
Wendoll’s a knave, my mistress is a—— [Exit.
EnterSirCharles MountfordandSusan.
Sir Charles Mountford.
Sister, you see we are driven to hard shift
To keep this poor house we have left unsold;
I am now enforced to follow husbandry,
And you to milk; and do we not live well?
Well, I thank God.
Susan.
O brother, here’s a change,
Since old Sir Charles died, in our father’s house!
Sir Charles Mountford.
All things on earth thus change, some up, some down;
Content’s a kingdom, and I wear that crown.
EnterShaftonwith aSerjeant.
Shafton.
Good morrow, morrow, Sir Charles: what, with your sister,
Plying your husbandry?—Serjeant, 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——
Sir Charles Mountford.
O, pardon me: this house successively
Hath ’longed 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, increased 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 deflowered
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 moneys ready?
Sir Charles Mountford.
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.
Sir Charles Mountford.
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
Razed from the bed-roll[21]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 glowed 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 sparing, and we labour hard,
We lie uneasy, to reserve to us
And our succession this small plot of ground.
Sir Charles Mountford.
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 desired. What should I say?
To keep this place I have changed myself away.
Shafton.
[To theSerjeant.] Arrest him at my suit. Actions and actions
Shall keep thee in perpetual 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!
Sir Charles Mountford.
[ToSusan.] You 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 lodged far from the sight of day.
[ExeuntShaftonandSerjeantwithSirCharles.
Susan.
My heart’s so hardened with the frost of grief,
Death cannot pierce it through. Tyrant too fell!
So lead the fiends condemnèd souls to hell.
EnterSirFrancis ActonandMalby.
Sir Francis Acton.
Again to prison! Malby, hast thou seen
A poor slave better tortured? Shall we hear
The music of his voice cry from the grate,[22]
“Meat for the Lord’s sake”? No, no, yet I am not
Throughly revenged. They say he hath a pretty wench
Unto his sister: shall I, in 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 revenged
For greater wrongs than he can proffer you.
See where the poor sad gentlewoman stands.
Sir Francis Acton.
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.
Sir Francis Acton.
O chaste and fair!
Malby.
Sir Francis, why, Sir Francis, zounds! in a trance?
Sir Francis, what cheer, man? Come, come, how is’t?
Sir Francis Acton.
Was she not fair? Or else this judging eye
Cannot distinguish beauty.
Malby.
She was fair.
Sir Francis Acton.
She was an angel in a mortal’s shape,
And ne’er descended from old Mountford’s line.
But soft, soft, let me call my wits together.
A poor, poor wench, to my great adversary
Sister, whose very souls denounce stern war,
One against other. How now, Frank? turned fool
Or madman, whether? But no; master of
My perfect senses and directest wits.
Then why should I be in this violent humour
Of passion and of love; and with a person
So different every way, and so opposed
In all contractions, and still-warring actions?
Fie, fie; how I dispute against my soul!
Come, come; I’ll gain her, or in her fair quest
Purchase my soul free and immortal rest.
[Exeunt.
EnterServing-Men,one with a voider and a wooden knife[23]to take away; another with the salt and bread; another with the table-cloth and napkins; another with the carpet:[24]Jenkinfollows them with two lights.
Jenkin.
So, march in order, and retire in battle array. My master and the guests have supped already, all’s taken away: here, now spread for the serving-men in the hall. Butler, it belongs to your office.
Butler.
I know it, Jenkin. What d’ye call the gentleman that supped there to-night?
Jenkin.
Who, my master?
Butler.
No, no; Master Wendoll, he’s a daily guest: I mean the gentleman that came but this afternoon.
Jenkin.
His name’s Master Cranwell. God’s light, hark, within there, my master calls to lay more billets upon the fire. Come, come! Lord, how we that are in office here in the house are troubled! One spread the carpet in the parlour, and stand ready to snuff the lights; the rest be ready to prepare their stomachs. More lights in the hall there. Come, Nich’las.
[Exeunt all butNicholas.
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.
EnterFrankford,brushing the crumbs from his clothes with a napkin, as newly risen from supper.
Frankford.
Nicholas, what make you here? why are not you
At supper in the hall among your fellows?
Nicholas.
Master, I stayed your rising from the board,
To speak with you.
Frankford.
Be brief, then, gentle Nicholas;
My wife and guests attend me in the parlour.
Why dost thou pause? Now, Nicholas, you want money,
And, unthrift-like, would eat into your wages
Ere you have earned it: here, sir, ’s half a crown;
Play the good husband,[25]and away to supper.
Nicholas.
By this hand, an honourable gentleman! I will not see him wronged.—Sir, I have served you long; you entertained me seven years before your beard.[26]You knew me, sir, before you knew my mistress.
Frankford.
What of this, good Nicholas?
Nicholas.
I never was a make-bate[27]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.
You are a knave, and I have much ado
With wonted patience to contain my rage,
And not to break thy pate. Thou 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 for me both in one house.
Oh master, master, that Wendoll is a villain.
Frankford.
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, that base slave
Enjoys my mistress, and dishonours you.
Frankford.
Thou hast killed me with a weapon whose sharp point
Hath pricked quite through and through my shivering heart:
Drops of cold sweat sit dangling on my hairs,
Like morning’s dew upon the golden flowers,
And I am plunged into strange agonies.
What didst thou say? If any word that touched
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 wronged 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? O, may it, can it be?
Is it by any wonder possible?
Man, woman, what thing mortal may we trust,
When friends and bosom wives prove so unjust?—
[ToNicholas.] What instance hast thou of this strange report?
Nicholas.
Eyes, eyes.
Frankford.
Thy eyes may be deceived, 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 eased my stomach,
I will go fill my stomach.
Frankford.
Away; be gone. [ExitNicholas.
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
To me her husband, modest, chaste, and godly.
Is all this seeming gold plain copper?
But he, that Judas that hath borne my purse,
And sold me for a sin!—O God! O God!
Shall I put up these wrongs? No. Shall I trust
The bare report of this suspicious groom,
Before the double-gilt, the well-hatched ore
Of their two hearts? No, I will lose these thoughts:
Distraction I will banish from my brow,
And from my looks exile sad discontent,
Their wonted favours in my tongue shall flow;
Till I know all, I’ll nothing seem to know.
Lights and a table there! Wife, Master Wendoll,
And gentle Master Cranwell.
EnterMistressFrankford, Wendoll, Cranwell, Nicholas,andJenkin,with cards, carpets, stools, and other necessaries.
Frankford.
O Master Cranwell, you are a stranger here,
And often baulk my house: faith, y’are a churl:
Now we have supped, a table, and to cards.
Jenkin.
A pair of cards,[28]Nicholas, and a carpet to cover the table. Where’s Cicely with her counters and her box? Candles and candlesticks there! Fie, we have such a household of serving creatures! unless it be Nick and I, there’s not one amongst them all can say bo to a goose. Well said,[29]Nick.
[They spread a carpet, set down lights and cards.
Mistress Frankford.
Come, Master Frankford, who shall take my part?
Frankford.
Marry, that will I, sweet wife.
Wendoll.
No, by my faith, sir; when you are together I sit out: it must be Mistress Frankford and I, or else it is no match.
Frankford.
I do not like that match.
Nicholas.
[Aside.] You have no reason, marry, knowing all.
Frankford.
’Tis no great matter neither. Come, Master Cranwell, shall you and I take them up?
Cranwell.
At your pleasure, sir.
Frankford.
I must look to you, Master Wendoll, for you will be playing false; nay, so will my wife too.
Nicholas.
[Aside.] Ay, I will be sworn she will.
Mistress Frankford.
Let them that are taken playing false, forfeit the set.
Frankford.
Content; it shall go hard but I’ll take you.
Cranwell.
Gentlemen, what shall our game be?
Wendoll.
Master Frankford, you play best at noddy.[30]
Frankford.
You shall not find it so; indeed you shall not.
Mistress Frankford.
I can play at nothing so well as double ruff.
Frankford.
If Master Wendoll and my wife be together, there’s no playing against them at double hand.
Nicholas.
I can tell you, sir, the game that Master Wendoll is best at.
Wendoll.
What game is that, Nick?
Nicholas.
Marry, sir, knave out of doors.
Wendoll.
She and I will take you at lodam.
Mistress Frankford.
Husband, shall we play at saint?
Frankford.
My saint’s turned devil. No, we’ll none of saint:
You are best at new-cut, wife; you’ll play at that.
Wendoll.
If you play at new-cut, I am soonest hitter of any here, for a wager.
Frankford.
’Tis me they play on. Well, you may draw out.
For all your cunning, ’twill be to your shame;
I’ll teach you, at your new-cut, a new game.
Come, come.
Cranwell.
If you cannot agree upon the game, to post and pair.
Wendoll.
We shall be soonest pairs; and my good host,
When he comes late home, he must kiss the post.
Frankford.
Whoever wins, it shall be thy cost.
Cranwell.
Faith, let it be vide-ruff, and let’s make honours.
Frankford.
If you make honours, one thing let me crave:
Honour the king and queen; except the knave.
Wendoll.
Well, as you please for that. Lift who shall deal.
Mistress Frankford.
The least in sight: what are you, Master Wendoll?
Wendoll.
I am a knave.
Nicholas.
[Aside.] I’ll swear it.
Mistress Frankford.
I a queen.
Frankford.
[Aside.] A quean[31]thou shouldst say. [Aloud.] Well, the cards are mine;
They are the grossest pair that e’er I felt.
Mistress Frankford.
Shuffle, I’ll cut: would I had never dealt.
Frankford.
I have lost my dealing.
Wendoll.
Sir, the fault’s in me:
This queen I have more than mine own, you see.
Give me the stock.
Frankford.
My mind’s not on my game.
Many a deal I have lost; the more’s your shame.
You have served me a bad trick, Master Wendoll.
Wendoll.
Sir, you must take your lot. To end this strife,
I know I have dealt better with your wife.
Frankford.
Thou hast dealt falsely, then.
Mistress Frankford.
What’s trumps?
Wendoll.
Hearts: partner, I rub.
Frankford.
[Aside.] Thou robb’st me of my soul, of her chaste love;
In thy false dealing thou hast robbed my heart.
[Aloud.] Booty you play; I like a loser stand,
Having no heart, or here or in my hand.
I will give o’er the set; I am not well.
Come, who will hold my cards?
Mistress Frankford.
Not well, sweet Master Frankford!
Alas, what ail you? ’Tis some sudden qualm.
Wendoll.
How long have you been so, Master Frankford?
Frankford.
Sir, I was lusty, and I had my health,
But I grew ill when you began to deal.
Take hence this table. Gentle Master Cranwell,
You are welcome; see your chamber at your pleasure.
I’m sorry that this meagrim takes me so,
I cannot sit and bear you company.
Jenkin, some lights, and show him to his chamber.
[ExeuntCranwellandJenkin.
Mistress Frankford.
A night-gown for my husband; quickly there:
It is some rheum or cold.
Wendoll.
Now, in good faith, this illness you have got
By sitting late without your gown.
Frankford.
I know it, Master Wendoll.
Go, go to bed, lest you complain like me.
Wife, prythee, wife, into my bed-chamber;
The night is raw and cold, and rheumatic:
Leave me my gown and light; I’ll walk away my fit.
Wendoll.
Sweet sir, good night.
Frankford.
Myself, good night.
[ExitWendoll.
Mistress Frankford.
Shall I attend you, husband?
Frankford.
No, gentle wife, thou’lt catch cold in thy head;
Prythee, be gone, sweet; I’ll make haste to bed.
Mistress Frankford.
No sleep will fasten on mine eyes, you know,
Until you come.
Frankford.
Sweet Nan, I prythee go.— [ExitMistressFrankford.
I have bethought me: get me, by degrees,
The keys of all my doors, which I will mould
In wax, and take their fair impression,
To have by them new keys. This being compassed,
At a set hour a letter shall be brought me,
And, when they think they may securely play,
They nearest are to danger. Nick, I must rely
Upon thy trust and faithful secrecy.
Nicholas.
Build on my faith.
Frankford.
To bed then, not to rest:
Care lodges in my brain, grief in my breast.
[Exeunt.
EnterSusan, OldMountford, Sandy, Roder,andTidy.
Old Mountford.
You say my nephew is in great distress:
Who brought it to him, but his own lewd life?
I cannot spare a cross.[32]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 denied the freedom of the prison,
And in the hole is laid with men condemned;
Plenty he hath of nothing but of irons,
And it remains in you to free him thence.
Old 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 lived;
I knew you ere your brother sold his land;
Then you sung well, played 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 placed you in that wealthy farm,
Of which you are possessed.
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 hurled him in will help him out. [Exit.
Susan.
Cold comfort still: what say you, cousin Tidy?
Tidy.
I say this comes of roysting, swaggering.
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 upon this earth uneven?
Their scoffing answers I will ne’er return;
But to myself his grief in silence mourn.
EnterSirFrancis ActonandMalby.
Sir Francis Acton.
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 am born to curse:
Hence, bawd! hence, broker! see, I spurn his gold;
My honour never shall for gain be sold.
Sir Francis Acton.
Stay, lady, stay.
Susan.
From you I’ll posting hie,
Even as the doves from feathered eagles fly. [Exit.
Sir Francis Acton.
She hates my name, my face: how should I woo?
I am disgraced in every thing 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 huntsman’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.
EnterSirCharles Mountford,with irons, his feet bare, his garments all ragged and torn.
Sir Charles Mountford.
Of all on the earth’s face most miserable,
Breathe in this hellish dungeon thy laments,
Thus like a slave ragged, like a felon gyved.
What 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 fettered 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!
EnterKeeper.
Keeper.
Knight, be of comfort, for I bring thee freedom
From all thy troubles.
Sir Charles Mountford.
Then I am doomed to die;
Death is the end of all calamity.
Keeper.
Live: your appeal is stayed; the execution
Of all your debts discharged; 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 discharged, all paid.
Go freely to your house, or where you please;
After long miseries, embrace your ease.
Sir Charles Mountford.
Thou grumblest out the sweetest music to me
That ever organ played. 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 breathed
Against such faithful kinsmen: they are all
Composed 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 Mountford’s race,
Ne’er bred a covetous thought, or humour base.
EnterSusan.
Susan.
I can no longer stay from visiting
My woful brother: while I could, I kept
My hapless tidings from his hopeful ear.
Sir Charles Mountford.
Sister, how much am I indebted to thee,
And to thy travel!
Susan.
What, at liberty?
Sir Charles Mountford.
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 loved 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 amazed
To see your bonds free, and your irons knocked off,
That I am rapt into a maze of wonder:
The rather for I know not by what means
This happiness hath chanced.
Sir Charles Mountford.
Why, by my uncle,
My cousins, and my friends: who else, I pray,
Would take upon them all my debts to pay?
Susan.
O brother, they are men all of flint,
Pictures of marble, and as void of pity
As chased bears. I begged, I sued, I kneeled,
Laid open all your griefs and miseries,
Which they derided; more than that, denied us
A part in their alliance; but, in pride,
Said that our kindred with our plenty died.
Sir Charles Mountford.
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 deserved so well?
Guess, sister, call to mind, remember[33]me:
These I have raised; they follow the world’s guise;
Whom rich in honour, they in woe despise.
Susan.
My wits have lost themselves, let’s ask the keeper.
Sir Charles Mountford.
Gaoler!
Keeper.
At hand, sir.
Sir Charles Mountford.
Of courtesy resolve me one demand.
What was he took the burthen of my debts
From off my back, stayed my appeal to death,
Discharged my fees, and brought me liberty?
Keeper.
A courteous knight, one called Sir Francis Acton.
Sir Charles Mountford.
Ha! Acton! O me, more distressed 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 thralled my heart; and it must now lie bound
In more strict prison than thy stony gaol.
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.[34][Exit.
Sir Charles Mountford.
By Acton freed, my dangerous opposite!
Why, to what end? on what occasion? ha!
Let me forget the name of enemy,
And with indifference balance this high favour:
Ha!
Susan.
[Aside.] His love to me? upon my soul ’tis so:
That is the root from whence these strange things grow.