“This is a way to kill a wife with kindness.”
“This is a way to kill a wife with kindness.”
“This is a way to kill a wife with kindness.”
Professor Ward (English Dramatic Literature, ii. 114) refers also to Fletcher’sThe Woman’s Prize, iii. 4:—
“Some few,For those are rarest, they are said to kill,With kindness and fair usage.”
“Some few,For those are rarest, they are said to kill,With kindness and fair usage.”
“Some few,
For those are rarest, they are said to kill,
With kindness and fair usage.”
An interesting point in the history of this drama is the fact that it was quite recently revived by the Society of Dramatic Students, and revived, I believe, with signal success. Perhaps the only weak element in the five acts is the readiness with which the wife falls. I may add that the division of the play into acts and scenes is here attempted for the first time, at least in any edition of the piece.
I comebut like 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 dull and earthy 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.
SirFrancis Acton, Brother of MistressFrankford.
SirCharles Mountford.
MasterFrankford.
MasterWendoll, Friend toFrankford.
MasterMalby, Friend to SirFrancis.
MasterCranwell.
Shafton, a False Friend to SirCharles.
Old Mountford, Uncle to SirCharles.
Tidy, Cousin to SirCharles.
Sandy.
Roder.
Servants toFrankford:
Nicholas,
Jenkin,
Roger Brickbat,
Jack Slime,
Spigot, a Butler,
Sheriff.
A Serjeant, a Keeper, Officers, Falconers, Huntsmen, a Coachman, Carters, Servants, Musicians.
MistressFrankford.
Susan, Sister of SirCharles.
Cicely, Maid to MistressFrankford.
Women Servants.
SCENE—The North of England.
EnterMasterFrankford, MistressFrankford, SirFrancis Acton, SirCharles Mountford, MasterMalby, MasterWendoll,andMasterCranwell.
Sir Francis Acton.
Some music there: none lead the bride a dance?
Sir Charles Mountford.
Yes, would she dance “The Shaking of the Sheets;”[1]
But that’s the dance her husband means to lead her.
Wendoll.
That’s not the dance that every man must dance,
According to the ballad.
Sir Francis Acton.
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 yoked my heels; pray then pardon me.
Sir Francis Acton.
I’ll have you dance too, brother.
Sir Charles Mountford.
Master Frankford,
You are a happy man, sir; and much joy
Succeed your marriage mirth! you have a wife
So qualified, and with such ornaments
Both of the 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 teach all strings to speak in their best grace,
From the shrillest treble to the hoarsest base.
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.
Mistress Frankford.
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 marrièd:
His sweet content is like a flattering 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.
Sir Francis Acton.
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 curtsey, 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 a good time that man both wins and woos,
That takes his wife down in her wedding shoes.”[2]
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 entailed,
And you are heir to all; your sister, she
Hath to her dower her mother’s modesty.
Sir Charles Mountford.
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 used all his art;
Not like a thick coat of unseasoned frieze,
Forced on your back in summer. She’s no chain
To tie your neck, and curb you 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; you 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.
Sir Francis Acton.
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 missed, 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.
Mistress Frankford.
And so will I.
[ExeuntFrankfordandMistressFrankford.
Sir Francis Acton.
To part you, it were sin.
Now, gallants, while the town-musicians
Finger their frets[3]within; and the mad lads
And country-lasses, every mother’s child,
With nosegays and bridelaces in their hats,
Dance all their country measures, rounds, and jigs,
What shall we do? Hark, they are all on the hoigh;[4]
They toil like mill-horses, and turn as round,—
Marry, not on the toe. Ay, and they caper,
Not without cutting; you shall see, to-morrow,
The hall-floor pecked and dinted like a mill-stone,
Made with their high shoes: though their skill be small,
Yet they tread heavy where their hob-nails fall.
Sir Charles Mountford.
Well, leave them to their sports. Sir Francis Acton,
I’ll make a match with you; meet to-morrow
At Chevy-chase, I’ll fly my hawk with yours.
Sir Francis Acton.
For what? For what?
Sir Charles Mountford.
Why, for a hundred pound.
Sir Francis Acton.
Pawn me some gold of that.
Sir Charles Mountford.
Here are ten angels;[5]
I’ll make them good a hundred pound to-morrow
Upon my hawk’s wing.
Sir Francis Acton.
’Tis a match, ’tis done.
Another hundred pound upon your dogs;
Dare ye, Sir Charles?
Sir Charles Mountford.
I dare: were I sure to lose,
I durst do more than that: here is my hand,
The first course for a hundred pound.
Sir Francis Acton.
A match.
Wendoll.
Ten angels on Sir Francis Acton’s hawk;
As much upon his dogs.
Cranwell.
I am for Sir Charles Mountford; I have seen
His hawk and dog both tried. What, clap you hands?
Or is’t no bargain?
Wendoll.
Yes, and stake them down:
Were they five hundred, they were all my own.
Sir Francis Acton.
Be stirring early with the lark to-morrow;[6]
I’ll rise into my saddle ere the sun
Rise from his bed.
Sir Charles Mountford.
If there you miss me, say
I am no gentleman: I’ll hold my day.
Sir Francis Acton.
It holds on all sides. Come, to-night let’s dance,
Early to-morrow let’s prepare to ride;
We had need be three hours up before the bride.
[Exeunt.
EnterNicholas, Jenkin, Jack Slime,andRoger Brickbat,withCountry Wenches,and two or threeMusicians.
Jenkin.
Come, Nick, take you Joan Miniver to trace withal; Jack Slime, traverse you with Cicely Milk-pail: I will take Jane Trubkin, and Roger Brickbat shall have Isbel Motley; and now that they are busy in the parlour, come, strike up; we’ll have a crash[7]here in the yard.
Nicholas.
My humour is not compendious; dancing I possess not, though I can foot it; yet, since I am fallen into the hands of Cicely Milk-pail, I consent.
Slime.
Truly Nick, though we were never brought up like serving courtiers, yet we have been brought up with serving creatures, ay, and God’s creatures too; for we have been brought up to serve sheep, oxen, horses, hogs, and such like: and, though we be but country fellows, it may be in the way of dancing we can do the horse-trick as well as serving-men.
Brickbat.
Ay, and the cross-point too.
Jenkin.
O Slime, O Brickbat, do not you know that comparisons are odious? now we are odious ourselves too, therefore 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.
Slime.
Foot it quickly: if the music overcome not my melancholy, I shall quarrel; and if they do not suddenly strike up, I shall presently strike them down.
Jenkin.
No quarrelling, for God’s sake: truly, if you do, I shall set a knave between ye.
Slime.
I come to dance, not to quarrel. Come, what shall it be? “Rogero?”[8]
Jenkin.
“Rogero!” no; we will dance “The Beginning of the World.”
Cicely.
I love no dance so well as “John come kiss me now.”
Nicholas.
I, that have ere now deserved a cushion, call for the “Cushion-dance.”
Brickbat.
For my part, I like nothing so well as “Tom Tyler.”
Jenkin.
No; we’ll have “The Hunting of the Fox.”
Slime.
“The Hay,” “The Hay;” there’s nothing like “The Hay.”
Nicholas.
I have said, I do say, and I will say again—
Jenkin.
Every man agree to have it as Nick says.
All.
Content.
Nicholas.
It hath been, it now is, and it shall be—
Cicely.
What, Master Nicholas, what?
Nicholas.
“Put on your smock a’ Monday.”
Jenkin.
So the dance will come cleanly off. Come, for God’s sake agree of something: if you like not that, put it to the musicians; or let me speak for all, and we’ll have “Sellenger’s round.”
All.
That, 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.Nicholaswhilst dancing speaks stately and scurvily, the rest after the country fashion.
Jenkin.
Hey! lively, my lasses! here’s a turn for thee!
[Exeunt.
Horns wind. EnterSirCharles Mountford, SirFrancis Acton,Malby, Cranwell, Wendoll, Falconers,andHuntsmen.
Sir Charles Mountford.
So; well cast off: aloft, aloft! well flown!
Oh, now she takes her at the sowse,[9]and strikes her
Down to the earth, like a swift thunder-clap.
Wendoll.
She hath struck ten angels out of my way.
Sir Francis Acton.
A hundred pound from me.
Sir Charles Mountford.
What, falconer!
Falconer.
At hand, sir.
Sir Charles Mountford.
Now she hath seized the fowl, and ’gins to plume her,
Rebeck her not: rather stand still and check her.
So, seize her gets,[10]her jesses,[11]and her bells:
Away!
Sir Francis Acton.
My hawk killed too.
Sir Charles Mountford.
Ay, but ’twas at the querre,[12]
Not at the mount, like mine.
Sir Francis Acton.
Judgment, my masters.
Cranwell.
Yours missed her at the ferre.
Wendoll.
Ay, but our merlin[13]first had plumed the fowl,
And twice renewed 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.
Sir Charles Mountford.
’Tis lost.
Sir Francis Acton.
I grant it not. Mine likewise seized a fowl
Within her talons; and you saw her paws
Full of the feathers: both her petty singles,
And her long singles gripped her more than other;
The terrials of her legs were stained 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.
Sir Charles Mountford.
How!
Sir Francis Acton.
Ay, and your dogs are trindle-tails and curs.
Sir Charles Mountford.
You stir my blood.
You keep not one good hound in all your kennel,
Nor one good hawk upon your perch.
Sir Francis Acton.
How, knight!
Sir Charles Mountford.
So, knight: you will not swagger, sir?
Sir Francis Acton.
Why, say I did?
Sir Charles Mountford.
Why, sir,
I say you would gain as much by swaggering,
As you have got by wagers on your dogs:
You will come short in all things.
Sir Francis Acton.
Not in this:
Now I’ll strike home.
Sir Charles Mountford.
Thou shalt to thy long home,
Or I will want my will.
Sir Francis Acton.
All they that love Sir Francis, follow me.
Sir Charles Mountford.
All that affect Sir Charles, draw on my part.
Cranwell.
On this side heaves my hand.
Wendoll.
Here goes my heart.
[They divide themselves. SirCharles Mountford, Cranwell, Falconer,andHuntsman,fight againstSirFrancis Acton, Wendoll,hisFalconer,andHuntsman;andSirCharles’sside gets the better, beating the others away, and killing both ofSirFrancis’smen. Exeunt all exceptSirCharles.
Sir Charles Mountford.
My God! what have I done? what have I done?
My rage hath plunged into a sea of blood,
In which my soul lies drowned. 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.
EnterSusan.
Susan.
O God! my brother wounded ’mong the dead!
Unhappy jest, that in such earnest ends:
The rumour of this fear stretched to my ears,
And I am come to know if you be wounded.
Sir Charles Mountford.
Oh! sister, sister, wounded at the heart.
Susan.
My God forbid!
Sir Charles Mountford.
In doing that thing which He forbad,
I am wounded, sister.
Susan.
I hope not at the heart.
Sir Charles Mountford.
Yes, at the heart.
Susan.
O God! a surgeon there!
Sir Charles Mountford.
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.
Sir Charles Mountford.
My conscience is become mine enemy,
And will pursue me more than Acton can.
Susan.
Oh, fly, sweet brother.
Sir Charles Mountford.
Shall I fly from thee?
Why, Sue, art weary of my company?
Susan.
Fly from your foe.
Sir Charles Mountford.
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.
Sir Charles Mountford.
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.
EnterSheriff,withOfficers.
Sheriff.
Sir Charles, I am made the unwilling instrument
Of your attach[14]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 come thus armed.
Sir Charles Mountford.
O, Master Sheriff,
I came into the field with many friends,
But see, they all have left me: only one
Clings to my sad misfortune, my dear sister.
I know you for an honest gentleman;
I yield my weapons, and submit to you;
Convey me where you please.
Sheriff.
To prison then,
To answer for the lives of these dead men.
Susan.
O God! O God!
Sir Charles Mountford.
Sweet sister, every strain
Of sorrow from your heart augments my pain;
Your grief abounds, and hits against my breast.
Sheriff.
Sir, will you go?
Sir Charles Mountford.
Even where it likes you best.
[Exeunt.
EnterFrankford.
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 possessed 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 possessed, sure I am he.
EnterNicholas.
Nicholas.
Sir, there’s a gentleman attends without
To speak with you.
Frankford.
On horseback?
Nicholas.
Yes, on horseback.
Frankford.
Entreat him to alight, I will 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 stained 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. [ExitNicholas.
This Wendoll I have noted, and his carriage
Hath pleased me much: by observation
I have noted many good deserts in him:
He’s affable, and seen[15]in many things,
Discourses well, a good companion;
And though of small means, yet a gentleman
Of a good house, though somewhat pressed by want:
I have preferred him to a second place
In my opinion, and my best regard.
EnterWendoll, MistressFrankford,andNicholas.
Mistress Frankford.
O 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 knew the match made ’twixt Sir Francis Acton
And Sir Charles Mountford.
Frankford.
True, with their hounds and hawks.
Wendoll.
The matches were both played.
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.
Mistress Frankford.
Oh, but you hear not all.
Sir Francis lost, and yet was loth 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 loved 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 blemished with one wound:
But poor Sir Charles is to the prison led,
To answer at the assize for them that’s dead.
Frankford.
I thank your pains, sir; had the 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 censured on[16]:
I’m sorry for him. Sir, a word with you;
I know you, sir, to be a gentleman
In all things; your possibilities but mean:
Please you to use my table and my purse,
They are yours.
Wendoll.
O Lord, sir, I shall never deserve it.
Frankford.
O sir, disparage not your worth too much:
You are full of quality and fair desert:
Choose of my men which shall attend on you,
And he is yours. I will allow you, sir,
Your man, your gelding, and your table, all
At my 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. Prythee, Nan,
Use him with all thy loving’st courtesy.
Mistress Frankford.
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.
[ExeuntFrankford, MistressFrankford,andWendoll.
Nicholas.
I do not like this fellow by no means:
I never see him but my heart still yearns:
Zounds! I could fight with him, yet know not why:
The devil and he are all one in my eye.
EnterJenkin.
Jenkin.
O Nick, what gentleman is that comes to lie at our house? my master allows him one to wait on him, and I believe 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.
EnterCicely.
Cicely.
Nich’las, where are you, Nich’las? you must come in, Nich’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 burs.
Cicely.
Then, Jenkin, come you.
Jenkin.
Nay, ’tis no boot for me to deny it. My master hath given me a coat here, but he takes pains himself to brush it once or twice a day with a holly-wand.
Cicely.
Come, come, make haste, that you may wash your hands again, and help to serve in dinner.
Jenkin.
You may see, my masters, though it be afternoon with you, ’tis but early days with us, for we have not dined yet: stay a little, I’ll but go in and help to bear up the first course, and come to you again presently.
[Exeunt.
EnterMalbyandCranwell.
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 cleared 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 turned a plain countryman,
Reformed in all things. See, sir, here he comes.
EnterSirCharlesandKeeper.
Keeper.
Discharge your fees, and you are then at freedom.
Sir Charles Mountford.
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.
Sir Charles Mountford.
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.
EnterShafton.
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?
Sir Charles Mountford.
O me! O most unhappy gentleman!
I am not worthy to have friends stirred up,
Whose hands may help me in this plunge of want.
I would I were in Heaven, to inherit there
The immortal birth-right 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 he will sink, he will. Nay, good Sir Charles,
Applaud your fortune, and your fair escape
From all these perils.
Sir Charles Mountford.
O sir, they have undone me.
Two thousand and five hundred pound a year
My father, at his death, possessed 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, reserved
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 proffered him this coin,
But for my gain and pleasure. [Aloud.] Come, Sir Charles,
I know you have need of money; take my offer.
Sir Charles Mountford.
Sir, I accept it, and remain indebted
Even to the best of my unable power.
Come, gentlemen, and see it tendered down.
[Exeunt.
EnterWendollmelancholy.
Wendoll.
I am a villain if I apprehend
But such a thought: then, to attempt the deed,—
Slave, thou art damned 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 drenched and drownèd 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 to 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 pulled and drawn to look that way.
[Enter over the stage,Frankford, MistressFrankford,andNicholas.][17]
O God! O God! with what a violence
I’m hurried to mine own destruction.
There goest thou, the most perfectest 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.
EnterJenkin.
Jenkin.
Did your worship call?
Wendoll.
He doth maintain me, he allows me largely
Money to spend——
Jenkin.
By my faith, so do not you me; I cannot get a cross of you.
Wendoll.
My gelding, and my man——
Jenkin.
That’s Sorrell and I.
Wendoll.
This kindness grows of no alliance ’twixt us——
Jenkin.
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 he could gain,
He hath placed me in the height of all his 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 joined together?
And yet I must: then, Wendoll, be content;
Thus villains, when they would, cannot repent.
Jenkin.
What a strange humour is my new master in! pray God he be not mad: if he should be so, I should never have any mind to serve him in Bedlam. It may be he’s mad for missing of me.
Wendoll.
[SeeingJenkin.] What, Jenkin, where’s your mistress?
Jenkin.
Is your worship married?
Wendoll.
Why dost thou ask?
Jenkin.
Because you are my master; and if I have a mistress, I would be glad, like a good servant, to do my duty to her.
Wendoll.
I mean Mistress Frankford.
Jenkin.
Marry, sir, her husband is riding out of town, and she went very lovingly to bring him on his way to horse.[18]Do you see, sir? here she comes, and here I go.
Wendoll.
Vanish.
[ExitJenkin.
Re-enterMistressFrankford.
Mistress Frankford.
You 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,
Hollaed into the fields, sent every way,
But could not meet you: therefore he enjoined 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.—
Give me a name, you whose infectious tongues
Are tipped with gall and poison: as you would
Think on a man that had your father slain,
Murdered 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. [Aside.
Mistress Frankford.
Sir, you are much beholding[19]to my husband;
You are a man most dear in his regard.