Mistress Frankford.
You have beheld the wofullest 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.
Mistress Frankford.
Oh no:
I dare not so presume; nor to my children:
I am disclaimed 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.
To recompense her wrongs, what canst thou do?
Thou hast made her husbandless and childless too.
Mistress Frankford.
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.
I’ll speak to her, and comfort her in grief.
Oh! but her wound cannot be cured with words.
No matter though, I’ll do my best good-will
To work a cure on her whom I did kill.
Mistress Frankford.
So, now unto my coach, then to my home,
So to my death-bed; for from this sad hour
I never will nor eat, nor drink, nor taste
Of any cates that may preserve my life:
I never will nor smile, nor sleep, nor rest;
But when my tears have washed my black soul white,
Sweet Saviour, to Thy hands I yield my sprite.
Wendoll.
O Mistress Frankford—
Mistress Frankford.
Oh, for God’s sake fly!
The devil doth come to tempt me ere I die.
My coach! this fiend, that with an angel’s face
Conjured mine honour, till he sought my wrack,
In my repentant eyes seems ugly black.
[Exeunt all, exceptWendollandJenkin;theCarterswhistling.
Jenkin.
What, my young master that fled in his shirt! How come you by your clothes again? You have made our house in a sweet pickle, ha’ ye not, think you? What, shall I serve you still, or cleave to the old house?
Wendoll.
Hence, slave! away with thy unseasoned mirth!
Unless thou canst shed tears, and sigh, and howl,
Curse thy sad fortunes, and exclaim on fate,
Thou art not for my turn.
Jenkin.
Marry, an you will not, another will: farewell, and be hanged! Would you had never come to have kept this coil[47]within our doors; we shall ha’ you run away like a sprite again. [Exit.
Wendoll.
She’s gone to death; I live to want and woe;
Her life, her sins, and all upon my head.
And I must now go wander, like a Cain,
In foreign countries and remoted climes,
Where the report of my ingratitude
Cannot be heard. I’ll over first to France,
And so to Germany and Italy;
Where when I have recovered, and by travel
Gotten those perfect tongues,[48]and that these rumours
May in their height abate, I will return:
And I divine (however now dejected)
My worth and parts being by some great man praised,
At my return I may in court be raised. [Exit.
EnterSirFrancis Acton, Susan, SirCharles Mountford, Cranwell,andMalby.
Sir Francis Acton.
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 atoned.[49]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.
Sir Francis Acton.
O 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.
Sir Francis Acton.
My brother Frankford showed too mild a spirit
In the revenge of such a loathèd 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.
[They enter the house.
EnterSirFrancis Acton, Susan, SirCharles Mountford, Cranwell,andMalby; JenkinandCicelyfollowing them.
Jenkin.
O my mistress, my mistress, my poor mistress.
Cicely.
Alas that ever I was born! what shall I do for my poor mistress?
Sir Charles Mountford.
Why, what of her?
Jenkin.
O Lord, sir, she no sooner heard that her brother and his friends were come to see how she did, but she, for very shame of her guilty conscience, fell into such a swoon, that we had much ado to get life into her.
Susan.
Alas that she should bear so hard a fate!
Pity it is repentance comes too late.
Sir Francis Acton.
Is she so weak in body?
Jenkin.
O sir, I can assure you there’s no hope of life in her, for she will take no sustenance: she hath plainly starved herself, and now she is as lean as a lath. She ever looks for the good hour. Many gentlemen and gentlewomen of the country are come to comfort her.
[Exeunt.
MistressFrankfordin bed; enterSirCharles Mountford, SirFrancis Acton, Malby, Cranwell,andSusan.
Malby.
How fare you, Mistress Frankford?
Mistress Frankford.
Sick, sick, oh, sick. Give me some air, I pray you.
Tell me, oh, tell me where is 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 moved, 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.
Mistress Frankford.
You have half revived me with those 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.
Sir Charles Mountford.
Alas! good mistress, sickness hath not left you
Blood in your face enough to make you blush.
Mistress Frankford.
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.
Sir Francis Acton.
I came to chide you; but my words of hate
Are turned 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.
EnterFrankford.
Frankford.
Good-morrow, brother; morrow, gentlemen:
God, that hath laid this cross upon our heads,
Might (had He pleased) have made our cause of meeting
On a more fair and more contented ground;
But He that made us, made us to this woe.
Mistress Frankford.
And is he come? Methinks that voice I know.
Frankford.
How do you, woman?
Mistress Frankford.
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 gripped by me. God pardon them
That made us first break hold!
Mistress Frankford.
Amen, amen.
Out of my 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 usurped 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.
So will not I;
I’ll sigh and sob, but, by my faith, not die.
Sir Francis Acton.
O Master Frankford, all the near alliance
I lose by her shall be supplied in thee:
You are my brother by the nearest way;
Her kindred hath fallen off, but yours doth stay.
Frankford.
Even as I hope for pardon at that day
When the great Judge of Heaven in scarlet sits,
So be thou pardoned. Though thy rash offence
Divorced our bodies, thy repentant tears
Unite our souls.
Sir Charles Mountford.
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?
Sir Francis Acton.
How do ye feel yourself?
Mistress Frankford.
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 honoured name,
And with that grief upon thy death-bed liest,
Honest in heart, upon my soul, thou diest.
Mistress Frankford.
Pardoned on earth, soul, thou in Heaven art free.
Once more:[50]thy wife dies thus embracing thee. [Dies.
Frankford.
New married, and new widowed. Oh! she’s dead,
And a cold grave must be her nuptial bed.
Sir Charles Mountford.
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.
Sir Francis Acton.
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
Punished her sin, the grief of her offence
Had not with such true sorrow touched 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 engraved.
In golden letters shall these words be filled,[51]
“Here lies she whom her husband’s kindness killed.”
Anhonest crew, disposèd to be merry,
Come to a tavern by, and called for wine:
The drawer brought it, smiling like a cherry,
And told them it was pleasant, neat, and fine.
“Taste it,” quoth one. He did so. “Fie!” quoth he;
“This wine was good; now’t runs too near the lee.”
Another sipped, to give the wine his due,
And said unto the rest it drunk too flat;
The third said, it was old; the fourth, too new;
Nay, quoth the fifth, the sharpness likes me not.
Thus, gentlemen, you see how, in one hour,
The wine was new, old, flat, sharp, sweet, and sour.
Unto this wine we do allude our play;
Which some will judge too trivial, some too grave:
You as our guests we entertain this day,
And bid you welcome to the best we have.
Excuse us, then: good wine may be disgraced,
When every several mouth hath sundry taste.
The Fair Maid of the West, or a Girl worth Gold, “as it was lately acted before the king and queen with approved liking,” was first published (both parts) in 1631: it had been acted as early as 1617, and from the title-page we may conclude that it held the stage for some time. It probably represents the dramatisation of some already-existent story-book or ballad. “We should be sorry,” remarks Mr. Saintsbury,[1]“to loseThe Fair Maid of the West, with its picture of Devonshire sailors, foreign merchants, kings of Fez, bashaws of various parts, Italian dukes, and what not. The two parts make anything but a good play, but they are decidedly interesting.” Only the first has here been given, as it is complete in itself, and the second part is of less value.
I have marked the changes of scene, and in one or two places have made trifling corrections in the text. For instance, in scene iv. of the first act, by reading “your hopes deceased,” and changing the punctuation, we get a very fair sense where Collier (who edited the play for the Shakespeare Society) was inclined to think that a line had dropped out.
To the much worthy and my most respectedJohn Othow, Esquire,Counsellor at Law, in the noble Society of Gray’s Inn.
Sir,
Excusethis my boldness, I entreat you, and let it pass under the title of my love and respect, long devoted unto you; of which, if I endeavour to present the world with a due acknowledgement, without the sordid expectation of reward or servile imputation of flattery, I hope it will be the rather accepted. I must ingenuously acknowledge, a weightier argument would have better suited with your grave employment; but there are retirements necessarily belonging to all the labours of the body and brain. If in any such cessation you will deign to cast an eye upon this weak and unpolished poem, I shall receive it as a courtesy from you, much exceeding any merit in me, my good meaning only excepted. Thus wishing you healthful ability in body, untroubled content in mind, with the happy fruition of both the temporal felicities of the world present, and the eternal blessedness of the life future, I still remain as ever,
Yours, most affectionately devoted,Thomas Heywood.
CourteousReader, my plays have not been exposed to the public view of the world in numerous sheets and a large volume, but singly, as thou seest, with great modesty and small noise. These comedies, bearing the title ofThe Fair Maid of the West, if they prove but as gracious in thy private reading as they were plausible in the public acting, I shall not much doubt of their success. Nor need they, I hope, much fear a rugged and censorious brow from thee, on whom the greatest and best in the kingdom have vouchsafed to smile. I hold it no necessity to trouble thee with the argument of the story, the matter itself lying so plainly before thee in acts and scenes, without any deviations or winding indents.
Peruse it through, and thou mayst find in itSome mirth, some matter, and, perhaps, some wit.He that would study thy content,
Peruse it through, and thou mayst find in itSome mirth, some matter, and, perhaps, some wit.He that would study thy content,
Peruse it through, and thou mayst find in it
Some mirth, some matter, and, perhaps, some wit.
He that would study thy content,
T.H.
Amongstthe Grecians there were annual feasts,
To which none were invited, as chief guests,
Save princes and their wives. Amongst the men,
There was no argument disputed then,
But who best governed; and, as’t did appear,
He was esteemed sole sovereign for that year.
The queens and ladies argued at that time
For virtue and for beauty which was prime,
And she had the high honour. Two here be,
For beauty one, the other majesty,
Most worthy (did that custom still persever)
Not for one year, but to be sovereigns ever.
Gentlemen:
Spencer,
Carrol,
Fawcett,
CaptainGoodlack,Spencer’sFriend.
Roughman,[3]a swaggering Gentleman.
Clem, a Vintner’s Apprentice.
Two Captains.
The Mayor of Foy.
An Alderman.
Mullisheg, King of Fez.
BashawAlcade.
BashawJoffer.
A Spanish Captain.
An English Merchant.
A French Merchant.
An Italian Merchant.
A Surgeon.
A Preacher.
Drawers, Sailors, Spaniards, Moors.
Servants, Chorus.
Bess Bridges, the Fair Maid of the West.
A Kitchenmaid.
Mutes personated:[4]
TheEarl of Essex,
The Mayor of Plymouth,
Petitioners,
SCENE—England, The Azores, Morocco.
EnterCarroland twoCaptains.
1st Captain.
When puts my lord[5]to sea?
2nd Captain.
When the wind’s fair.
Carrol.
Resolve me, I entreat; can you not guess
The purpose of this voyage?
1st Captain.
Most men think
The fleet’s bound for the Islands.[6]
Carrol.
Nay, ’tis like.
The great success at Cales,[7]under the conduct
Of such a noble general, hath put heart
Into the English: they are all on fire
To purchase from the Spaniard. If their carracks[8]
Come deeply laden, we shall tug with them
For golden spoil.
2nd Captain.
Oh, were it come to that!
1st Captain.
How Plymouth swells with gallants; how the streets
Glister with gold! You cannot meet a man
But tricked in scarf and feather, that it seems
As if the pride of England’s gallantry
Were harboured here. It doth appear, methinks,
A very court of soldiers.
Carrol.
It doth so.
Where shall we dine to-day?
2nd Captain.
At the next tavern by; there’s the best wine.
1st Captain.
And the best wench, Bess Bridges; she’s the flower
Of Plymouth held: the Castle needs no bush,[9]
Her beauty draws to them more gallant customers
Than all the signs i’ the town else.
2nd Captain.
A sweet lass,
If I have any judgment.
1st Captain.
Now, in troth,
I think she’s honest.
Carrol.
Honest, and live there!
What, in a public tavern, where’s such confluence
Of lusty and brave gallants! Honest, said you?
2nd Captain.
I vow she is, for me.
1st Captain.
For all, I think.
I’m sure she’s wondrous modest.
Carrol.
But withal
Exceeding affable.
2nd Captain.
An argument
That she’s not proud.
Carrol.
No; were she proud, she’d fall.
1st Captain.
Well, she’s a most attractive adamant:[10]
Her very beauty hath upheld that house,
And gained her master much.
Carrol.
That adamant
Shall for this time draw me too: we’ll dine there.
2nd Captain.
No better motion. Come to the Castle then.
[Exeunt.
EnterSpencerandCaptainGoodlack.
Goodlack.
What, to the old house still?
Spencer.
Canst blame me, captain?
Believe me, I was never surprised till now,
Or catched upon the sudden.
Goodlack.
Pray resolve me;
Why, being a gentleman of fortunes, means,
And well revenued, will you adventure thus
A doubtful voyage, when only such as I,
Born to no other fortunes than my sword,
Should seek abroad for pillage?
Spencer.
Pillage, captain!
No, ’tis for honour; and the brave society
Of all these shining gallants, that attend
The great lord-general, drew me hither first,
No hope of gain or spoil.
Goodlack.
Ay, but what draws you to this house so oft?
Spencer.
As if thou knew’st it not.
Goodlack.
What, Bess?
Spencer.
Even she.
Goodlack.
Come, I must tell you, you forget yourself,
One of your birth and breeding thus to dote
Upon a tanner’s daughter! why, her father
Sold hides in Somersetshire, and, being trade-fallen,
Sent her to service.
Spencer.
Prithee speak no more;
Thou tell’st me that which I would fain forget,
Or wish I had not known. If thou wilt humour me,
Tell me she’s fair and honest.
Goodlack.
Yes, and loves you.
Spencer.
To forget that were to exclude the rest:
All saving that were nothing. Come, let’s enter.
[Exeunt.
EnterSpencer, CaptainGoodlack,and twoDrawers.
1st Drawer.
You are welcome, gentlemen.—Show them into the next room there.
2nd Drawer.
Look out a towel, and some rolls, a salt and trenchers.
Spencer.
No, sir, we will not dine.
2nd Drawer.
I am sure ye would, if you had my stomach. What wine drink ye, sack or claret?
Spencer.
Where’s Bess?
2nd Drawer.
Marry, above, with three or four gentlemen.
Spencer.
Go call her.
2nd Drawer.
I’ll draw you a cup of the neatest wine in Plymouth.
Spencer.
I’ll taste none of your drawing. Go call Bess.
2nd Drawer.
There’s nothing in the mouths of these gallants but “Bess, Bess.”
Spencer.
What say y’, sir?
2nd Drawer.
Nothing, sir, but I’ll go and call her presently.
Spencer.
Tell her who’s here.
2nd Drawer.
The devil rid her out of the house, for me!
Spencer.
Say y’, sir?
2nd Drawer.
Nothing but anon, anon, sir.
EnterBess Bridges.
Spencer.
See, she’s come!
Bess.
Sweet Master Spencer, y’are a stranger grown.
Where have you been these three days?
Spencer.
The last night
I sat up late at game. Here, take this bag,
And lay’t up till I call for’t.
Bess.
Sir, I shall.
Spencer.
Bring me some wine.
Bess.
I know your taste,
And I shall please your palate. [Exit.
Goodlack.
Troth, ’tis a pretty soul!
Spencer.
To thee I will unbosom all my thoughts:
Were her low birth but equal with her beauty,
Here would I fix my thoughts.
Goodlack.
You are not mad, sir?
You say you love her.
Spencer.
Never question that.
Goodlack.
Then put her to’t; win Opportunity,
She’s the best bawd. If, as you say, she loves you,
She can deny you nothing.
Spencer.
I have proved her
Unto the utmost test; examined her,
Even to a modest force; but all in vain:
She’ll laugh, confer, keep company, discourse,
And something more, kiss; but beyond that compass
She no way can be drawn.
Goodlack.
’Tis a virtue
But seldom found in taverns.
Re-enterBess,with wine.
Bess.
’Tis of the best Graves wine,[11]sir.
Spencer.
Gramercy, girl: come sit.
Bess.
Pray pardon, sir, I dare not.
Spencer.
I’ll ha’ it so.
Bess.
My fellows love me not, and will complain
Of such a saucy boldness.
Spencer.
Pox on your fellows!
I’ll try whether their pottle-pots or heads
Be harder, if I do but hear them grumble.
Sit: now, Bess, drink to me.
Bess.
To your good voyage! [Drinks.
Re-enter2nd Drawer.
2nd Drawer.
Did you call, sir?
Spencer.
Yes, sir, to have your absence. Captain, this health.
Goodlack.
Let it come, sir.
2nd Drawer.
Must you be set, and we wait, with a——!
Spencer.
What say you, sir?
2nd Drawer.
Anon, anon: I come there. [Exit.
Spencer.
What will you venture, Bess, to sea with me?
Bess.
What I love best, my heart: for I could wish
I had been born to equal you in fortune,
Or you so low, to have been ranked with me;
I could have then presumed boldly to say,
I love none but my Spencer.
Spencer.
Bess, I thank thee.
Keep still that hundred pound till my return
From the Islands with my lord: if never, wench,
Take it; it is thine own.
Bess.
You bind me to you.
Re-enter1st Drawer.
1st Drawer.
Bess, you must fill some wine into the Portcullis; the gentlemen there will drink none but of your drawing.
Spencer.
She shall not rise, sir. Go, let your master snick-up.[12]
1st Drawer.
And that should be cousin-german to the hick-up.
Re-enter2nd Drawer.
2nd Drawer.
Bess, you must needs come. The gentlemen fling pots, pottles, drawers, and all down stairs. The whole house is in an uproar.
Bess.
Pray pardon, sir; I needs must be gone.
2nd Drawer.
The gentlemen swear if she come not up to them, they will come down to her.
Spencer.
If they come in peace,
Like civil gentlemen, they may be welcome:
If otherwise, let them usurp their pleasures.
We stand prepared for both.
EnterCarroland the twoCaptains.
Carrol.
Save you, gallants! We are somewhat bold, to press
Into your company: it may be held scarce manners;
Therefore, ’tis fit that we should crave your pardon.
Spencer.
Sir, you are welcome; so are your friends.
1st Captain.
Some wine!
Bess.
Pray give me leave to fill it.
Spencer.
You shall not stir. So, please you, we’ll join company.—
Drawer, more stools.
Carrol.
I take’t that’s a she drawer. Are you of the house?
Bess.
I am, sir.
Carrol.
In what place?
Bess.
I draw.
Carrol.
Beer, do you not? You are some tapstress.
Spencer.
Sir, the worst character you can bestow
Upon the maid is to draw wine.
Carrol.
She would draw none to us.
Perhaps she keeps a rundlet for your taste,
Which none but you must pierce.
2nd Captain.
I pray be civil.
Spencer.
I know not, gentlemen, what your intents be,
Nor do I fear, or care. This is my room;
And if you bear you, as you seem in show,
Like gentlemen, sit and be sociable.
Carrol.
We will.—[toBess.] Minx, by your leave. Remove, I say.
Spencer.
She shall not stir.
Carrol.
How, sir?
Spencer.
No, sir. Could you outface the devil,
We do not fear your roaring.[13]
Carrol.
Though you may be companion with a drudge,
It is not fit she should have place by us.—
About your business, housewife.
Spencer.
She is worthy
The place as the best here, and she shall keep’t.
Carrol.
You lie.
[They draw and justle:Carrolis slain.
Goodlack.
The gentleman’s slain: away!
Bess.
O, Heaven! what have you done?
Goodlack.
Undone thyself, and me too. Come away.
[ExeuntGoodlackandSpencer.
Bess.
Oh, sad misfortune! I shall lose him ever.
What! are you men, or milksops? Stand you still,
Senseless as stones, and see your friend in danger
To expire his last?
1st Captain.
Tush! all our help’s in vain.
2nd Captain.
This is the fruit of whores;
This mischief came through thee.
Bess.
It grew first from your incivility.
1st Captain.
Lend me a hand, to lift his body hence.
It was a fatal business.
[Exeunt theCaptains,bearing the body.
Re-enter the twoDrawers.
1st Drawer.
One call my master, another fetch the constable. Here’s a man killed in the room.
2nd Drawer.
How! a man killed, say’st thou? Is all paid?
1st Drawer.
How fell they out, canst thou tell?
2nd Drawer.
Sure, about this bold Bettrice.[14]’Tis not so much for the death of the man, but how shall we come by our reckoning?
[ExeuntDrawers.
Bess.
What shall become of me? Of all lost creatures,
The most infortunate! My innocence
Hath been the cause of blood, and I am now
Purpled with murder, though not within compass
Of the law’s severe censure: but, which most
Adds unto my affliction, I by this
Have lost so worthy and approved a friend,
Whom to redeem from exile, I would give
All that’s without and in me.
EnterFawcett.
Fawcett.
Your name’s Bess Bridges?
Bess.
An unfortunate maid,
Known by that name too well in Plymouth, here.
Your business, sir, with me?
Fawcett.
Know you this ring?
Bess.
I do: it is my Spencer’s.
I know, withal, you are his trusty friend,
To whom he would commit it. Speak: how fares he?
Is he in freedom, know ye?
Fawcett.
He’s in health
Of body, though in mind somewhat perplexed
For this late mischief happened.
Bess.
Is he fled,
And freed from danger?
Fawcett.
Neither. By this token
He lovingly commends him to you, Bess,
And prays you, when ’tis dark, meet him o’ th’ Hoe,
Near to the new-made fort, where he’ll attend you,
Before he flies, to take a kind farewell.
There’s only Goodlack in his company:
He entreats you not to fail him.
Bess.
Tell him from me, I’ll come, I’ll run, I’ll fly,
Stand death before me; were I sure to die.
[Exeunt.
EnterSpencerandCaptainGoodlack.
Goodlack.
You are too full of passion.
To have the guilt of murder burden me;
And next, my life in hazard to a death
So ignominious; last, to lose a love.
Spencer.
Canst thou blame me,
So sweet, so fair, so amorous, and so chaste,
And all these at an instant! Art thou sure
Carrol is dead?
Goodlack.
I can believe no less.
You hit him in the very speeding place.
Spencer.
Oh! but the last of these sits near’st my heart.
Goodlack.
Sir, be advised by me:
Try her, before you trust her. She, perchance,
May take the advantage of your hopeful fortunes;
But when she finds you subject to distress
And casualty, her flattering love may die,
Your hopes deceased.
Spencer.
Thou counsell’st well.
I’ll put her to the test and utmost trial,
Before I trust her further. Here she comes.
EnterFawcett,andBesswith a bag.
Fawcett.
I have done my message, sir.
Bess.
Fear not, sweet Spencer; we are now alone,
And thou art sanctuarèd in these mine arms.
Goodlack.
While these confer, we’ll sentinel their safety.
This place I’ll guard.
Fawcett.
I this.
Bess.
Are you not hurt,
Or your skin rased with his offensive steel?
How is it with you?
Spencer.
Bess, all my afflictions
Are that I must leave thee: thou know’st, withal,
My extreme necessity, and that the fear
Of a most scandalous death doth force me hence.
I am not near my country; and to stay
For new supply from thence might deeply engage me
To desperate hazard.
Bess.
Is it coin you want?
Here is the hundred pound you gave me late:
Use that, beside what I have stored and saved,
Which makes it fifty more. Were it ten thousand,
Nay, a whole million, Spencer, all were thine.
Spencer.
No; what thou hast, keep still; ’tis all thine own.
Here be my keys: my trunks take to thy charge:
Such gold fit for transportage as I have,
I’ll bear along: the rest are freely thine.
Money, apparel, and what else thou find’st,
Perhaps worth my bequest and thy receiving,
I make thee mistress of.
Bess.
Before, I doted;
But now you strive to have me ecstasied.
What would you have me do, in which to express
My zeal to you?
Spencer.
I enjoin thee to keep
Ever my picture, which in my chamber hangs;
For when thou part’st with that, thou losest me.
Bess.