| |
|
|
A WOMAN KILLED
WITH
KINDNESS
BY THOMAS HEYWOOD
| [DRAMATIS PERSONAE |
SIR FRANCIS
ACTON,
Brother to Mistress
Frankford.
|
NICHOLAS,
ROGER
BRICKBAT, JENKIN,
JACK SLIME,
SPIGOT, Butler, |
}
|
Household
Servants to
Frankford. |
| SIR CHARLES
MOUNTFORD. |
| MASTER JOHN
FRANKFORD. |
| MASTER MALBY,
friend to Sir
Francis. |
Sheriff .
Keeper of Prison .
Sheriff's Officers, Serjeant, Huntsmen, Falconers,
Coachmen, Carters, Servants, Musicians. |
| MASTER WENDOLL,
friend to
Frankford. |
| MASTER CRANWELL.
Sheriff's
Officers, |
| MASTER SHAFTON,
false
friend to Sir
Charles. |
|
| OLD MOUNTFORD,
Uncle to Sir Charles. |
|
| MASTER SANDY.
|
MISTRESS ANNE
FRANKFORD. |
| MASTER RODER.
|
SUSAN,
Sister
to Sir Charles
Mountford. |
| MASTER TIDY,
Cousin to Sir
Charles. |
CICELY,
Maid to
Mistress
Frankford. |
|
Women Servants in Master
Frankford's household.]
|
I COME
but 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, |
5 |
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; |
10 |
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,
1
Save them that yield, and spare where they may spoil.
Enter MASTER
JOHN
FRANKFORD, MISTRESS
FRANKFORD],3
SIR FRANCIS
ACTON, SIR
CHARLES MOUNTFORD,
MASTER MALBY,
MASTER WENDOLL, AND
MASTER
CRAN-
WELL.
Sir F. Some
music,
there! None lead the
bride a dance?
Sir C. Yes, would
she
dance The Shaking of
the Sheets;
But that's the dance her husband means to lead
her.
Wen. That,'s not
the
dance that every man
must dance,
According to the ballad. 4
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.
Frank. Ay, you
may
caper; you are light and
Marriage hath yok'd my heels; pray, then, par-
don me.
Sir F. I'll have
you
dance too, brother !
Sir C.
Master
Frankford,
You are a happy man, Sir, and much joy
Succeed your marriage mirth: you have a wife
| So qualified, and wit
such
ornaments |
15 |
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
____________________
| 1 |
Defeat. |
| 2 |
Room in
Frankford's
house. |
| 3 |
Q2.
Acton. |
| 4 |
The
Shaking
of
the
Sheets, or The Dance of Death,
was a well-known ballad and dance
tune. |
485
|
|
|
Can teach all strings to
speak in
their best
From the shrill'st 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.
Frank. But
that I
know
your virtues and
I should be jealous of your praise, Sir Charles.
Cran. He speaks no
more
than you approve.
Mal. Nor flatters he
that
gives to her her due.
Mrs. F. I would your
praise could find a fitter
theme
| Than my imperfect
beauties
to speak on! |
30 |
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 |
35 |
Will blast the roses in my cheeks that grow.
Sir F. A perfect
wife
already, meek and
patient !
How strangely the word husband fits your
mouth,
Not married three hours since ! Sister, 't is
You that begin betimes thus must needs prove
Pliant and duteous in your husband's love. —
Gramercies, brother! Wrought her to 't al-
ready, —
'Sweet husband,' and a curtsey, the first day?
Mark this, mark this, you that are bachelors,
| And never took the
grace 1
of honest man; |
45 |
Mark this, against you marry, 2
this one phrase :
In a good time that man both wins and woos
That takes his wife down 3
in her wedding shoes.
Frank. Your sister
takes
not after you, Sir
Francis,
| All his wild blood
your
father spent on you; |
50 |
He got her in his age, when he grew civil.
All his mad tricks were to his land entail'd,
And you are heir to all; your sister, she
Hath to her dower her mother's modesty.
Sir C. Lord, sir, in
what
a happy state live
This morning, which to many seems a burden,
Too heavy to bear, is unto you a pleasure.
This lady is no clog, as many are ;
She doth become you like a well-made suit,
| In which the tailor
hath
us'd all his art ; |
60 |
Not like a thick coat of unseason'd frieze,
Forc'd on your back in Summer. She 's no chain
To tie your neck, and curb you to the yoke ;
But she's a chain of gold to adorn your neck.
| You both adorn each
other,
and your hands, |
65 |
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, |
70 |
Which God bestow on you from this first day
Until your dissolution, — that's for aye !
Sir F. We keep you
here
too long, good
brother Frankford.
Into the hall ; away! Go cheer your guests.
What ! Bride and bridegroom both withdrawn
If you be mist, the guests will doubt their wel-
come,
And charge you with unkindness.
Frank.
To prevent it,
I'll leave you here, to see the dance within.
Mrs. F. And
so will I.
Exeunt
[MASTER AND
MISTRESS
FRANKFORD].
Sir. F.
To part you it
were sin. —
| Now, gallants, while
the
town musicians |
80 |
Finger their frets 4
within, and the mad lads
And country lasses, every mother's child,
With nosegays and bride-laces 5
in their hats,
Dance all their country measures, rounds, and
jigs,
What shall we do ? Hark! They're all on the
They toil like mill-horses, and turn as round, —
Marry, not on the toe! Ay, and they caper,
Not] 7 without cutting; you shall
see, to-
morrow,
The hall-floor peckt and dinted like a mill-
stone,
Made with their high shoes. Though their skill
Yet they tread heavy where their hobnails fall.
Sir F. Well, leave
them to
their sports ! —
Sir Francis Acton,
I'll make a match with you! Meet me to-
morrow
At Chevy Chase; I'll fly my hawk with yours.
Sir F. For what? For
what?
| Sir C.
Why,
for a
hundred pound. |
95 |
Sir F. Pawn me some
gold
of that!
Sir C.
Here are ten
angels; 8
I'll make them good a hundred pound to-mor-
row
Upon my hawk's wing.
Sir.
F.
'T is a match; 't is done.
Another hundred pound upon your dogs; —
Dare ye, Sir Charles?
Sir C.
I dare; were I sure
to lose,
| I durst do more than
that;
here is my hand, |
101 |
The first course for a hundred pound !
Sir F.
A match.
Wen.
Ten angels on Sir Francis Acton's
hawk ;
As much upon his dogs!
Cran. I'm for Sir
Charles
Mountford: I have
His hawk and dog both tried. What ! Clap ye
hands, 9
Or is't no bargain?
Wen.
Yes, and stake them
down.
Were they five hundred, they were all my own.
Sir F. Be stirring
early
with the lark tomorrow ;
____________________
| 1 |
Gained the
dignity. |
| 2 |
In preparation
for
marrying. |
| 3 |
Reduces her to
submission. |
| 4 |
The points where
the
strings
of a musical instru-
ment are stopped. |
| 5 |
Streamers. |
| 6 |
Boisterous. |
| 7 |
Q1
But. |
| 8 |
Gold coins worth
about
$2.50. [AJ Note: diff. amt. today]
|
| 9 |
Shake hands on
it. |
486
|
|
|
| I'll rise into my
saddle ere
the sun |
110 |
Rise from his bed.
Sir C.
If there you miss
me, say
I am no gentleman! I'll hold my day.
Sir F. It holds on
all
sides. — Come, to-night
let's dance ;
| Early to-morrow let 's
prepare to ride : |
114 |
We'd need be three hours up before the bride.
Exeunt.
Enter NICHOLAS
and JENKIN,
JACK SLIME,
ROGER BRICKBAT, with Country
Wenches,
and two or three
Musicians.
Jen. Come, Nick,
take you
Joan Miniver, to
trace withal ; Jack Slime, traverse you with
Cicely Milkpail ; I will take Jane Trubkin, and
Roger Brickbat shall have Isabel Motley. And
| now that they are busy
in
the parlour, come, |
5 |
strike up ; we'll have a crash 2
here in the
yard.
Nich. My humour is
not
compendious : danc-
ing I possess not, though I can foot it; yet,
| since I am fallen into
the
hands of Cicely |
10 |
Milkpail, 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 |
15 |
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 the serving-men.
| Brick. Ay, and
the
cross-point too. |
20 |
Jen. O Slime! O
Brickbat!
Do
not you know
that comparisons are odious? Now we are odi-
ous ourselves, too; therefore there are no com-
parisons to be made betwixt us.
| Nich. I am
sudden,
and not superfluous; |
25 |
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 over come
| not my melancholy, I
shall
quarrel; and if |
30 |
they suddenly do not strike up, I shall presently
strike thee down.
Jen. 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. |
35 |
Come, what shall it be? Rogero
? 3
Jen. Rogero ? No ; we will
dance The Begin-
ning of the
World.
Cicely. I love no
dance so
well as John come
Nich. I that have
ere now
deserv'd a cush-
ion, call for the Cushion-dance.
Brick. For my part,
I like
nothing so well as
Tom Tyler.
| Jen. No ; we
'll
have The Hunting of the |
45 |
Fox.
Slime. The Hay, The Hay !
There's nothing like The Hay.
Nich. I have said, I
do
say, and I will say
Jen. Every man agree
to
have it as Nick says !
All.
Content.
Nich. It hath been,
it now
is, and it shall
be —
| Cicely. What,
Master
Nicholas ? What ? |
55 |
Nich. Put
on your
Smock
a' Monday.
Jen. 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
|
60 |
Round.
All. That, that,
that !
Nich. No, I am
resolv'd
thus it shall be ;
First take hands, then take ye to your heels.
| Jen. Why,
would you
have us run away ? |
65 |
Nich. No; but I
would have
you shake your
heels. — Music, strike up !
They dance ; NICK
dancing,
speaks
stately
and scurvily, the rest after
the country fashion.
Jen. Hey ! Lively,
my
lasses ! Here's a turn
for thee !
Exeunt.
Wind horns. Enter
SIR CHARLES MOUNTFORD,
SIR FRANCIS ACTON,
MALBY, CRANWELL,
WENDOLL, Falconer, and Huntsmen.
Sir F. So ; well
cast off
! Aloft, aloft ! Well
flown !
Oh, now she takes her at the souse, 5
and strikes
her
Down to the earth, like a swift thunder-clap.
Wen.
She hath struck ten angels out of my
way.
| Sir F. A
hundred
pound from me. |
5 |
Sir C. What,
falconer !
Falc. At hand, sir !
Sir F. Now she hath
seiz'd
the fowl and 'gins
to plume 6
her,
Rebeck 7
her not; rather stand still and check
her !
So, seize her gets, 8
her jesses, 9
and her bells ! 10
Away !
Sir F. My hawk
kill'd,
too.
| Sir C.
Ay, but 't
was at the querre, |
10 |
Not at the mount like mine.
Sir F.
Judgment, my
masters !
Cran. Yours mist her
at
the ferre. 11
Wen. Ay, but our
merlin
first had plum'd
And twice renew'd 12
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 F. I grant it
not.
Mine likewise seiz'd a
fowl
Within her talons, and you saw her paws
____________________
| 1 |
Yard of the
same. |
| 2 |
Frolic, bout. |
| 3 |
The names of the
dance-tunes
here were all famil-
iar. |
| 4 |
Chevy Chase. |
| 5 |
On the descent. |
| 6 |
Pluck. |
| 7 |
Call back. |
| 8 |
Verity explains
as
"booty,"
but apparently it is
the same as jesses. |
| 9 |
Leg-straps. |
| 10 |
Quarry : "the
swoop
upon the
bird." (N. E. D.) |
| 11 |
Not
satisfactorily
explained. |
| 12 |
Attacked afresh.
|
487
|
|
|
Full of the feathers; both
her
petty singles 1
And her long singles grip'd her more than
other ;
The terrials 2
of her 3
legs were stain'd with
Not of the fowl only; she did discomfit
Some of her feathers; but she brake away.
Come, come; your hawk is but a rifler. 4
Sir C.
How
!
Sir F. Ay, and your
dogs
are trindle-tails 5
and curs.
| Sir C.
You stir my
blood. |
30 |
You keep not one good hound in all your ken-
nel,
Nor one good hawk upon your perch.
Sir F.
How,
knight !
Sir C. So, knight.
You
will not swagger, Sir ?
Sir F. Why, say I
did ?
Sir C.
Why,
Sir,
| I say you would gain
as much
by swagg'ring |
35 |
As you have got by wagers on your dogs.
You will come short in all things.
Sir F.
Not
in this !
Now I'll strike home.
[Strikes Sir Charles.]
Sir C.
Thou shalt to thy
long home,
Or I will want my will.
Sir F. All they that
love
Sir Francis, follow
Sir C. All that
affect Sir
Charles, draw on
my part !
Cran. On this side
heaves
my hand.
Wen.
Here
goes my heart.
They divide themselves.
SIR CHARLES
MOUNTFORD, CRANWELL,
Fa-
lconer, and
Huntsman, fight
against SIR
FRANCIS ACTON,
WENDOLL, his
Falconer and
Huntsman ; and
SIR CHARLES
hath the better, and
beats them
away, killing both of
SIR FRAN-
CIS'S men.
Exeunt
all but SIR
CHARLES MOUNTFORD.]
Sir C. My God, what
have I
done ! What
have I done !
My rage hath plung'd into a sea of blood,
In which my soul lies drown'd. Poor inno-
For whom we are to answer ! Well, 't is 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! 'T was in the heat of
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, |
56 |
And in my height of conquest overcome.
Enter
SUSAN.
Susan. O God ! My
brother
wounded 'mong
the dead !
Unhappy jest, that in such earnest ends !
| The rumour of this
fear
stretcht to my ears, |
60 |
And I am come to know if you be wounded.
Sir F. Oh, sister,
sister
! Wounded at the
heart.
Susan. My God forbid
!
Sir. C. In doing
that
thing which he for-
bad,
I am wounded, sister.
| Susan.
I hope, not
at the heart. |
65 |
Sir C. Yes, at the
heart.
Susan.
O
God! A surgeon,
there.
Sir C. Call me a
surgeon,
sister, for my
soul !
The sin of murder, it hath pierc'd my heart
And made a wide wound there ; but for these
scratches,
They are nothing, nothing.
| Susan.
Charles, what
have you done ? |
70 |
Sir Francis hath great friends, and will pursue
you
Unto the utmost danger
6 of the law.
Sir C. My conscience
is
become mine enemy,
And will pursue me more than Acton can.
Susan. Oh ! Fly,
sweet
brother !
| Sir C.
Shall
I fly
from thee ? |
75 |
Why, Sue, art weary of my company?
Susan. Fly from your
foe!
Sir C.
You,
sister, are my
friend,
And flying you, I shall pursue my end.
Susan. Your company
is as
my eyeball
dear ;
| Being far from you, no
comfort can be near. |
80 |
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
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 C. Thou shalt
not weep
so much; for I
will stay,
| In spite of danger's
teeth.
I'll live with thee, |
90 |
Or I'll not live at all. I will not sell
My country and my father's patrimony,
Nor thy sweet sight, for a vain hope of life.
Enter
Sheriff, with
Officers.
Sher.
Sir Charles, I am made the
unwilling
instrument
| Of your attach 8
and apprehension. |
95 |
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 arm'd.
Sir C.
Oh,
Master Sheriff !
| I came into the field
with
many friends, |
100 |
____________________
| 1 |
Toes. |
| 2 |
Unexplained.
[*AJ
Note:
Terrial - the part of the foot touching the earth - i.e., bottoms of the feet ?*]
|
| 3 |
The rest of the
speech
seems
to refer to Mountford's
hawk. |
| 4 |
Bungler. |
| 5 |
Curly-tailed. |
| 6 |
Limit of
liability. |
| 7 |
Abundantly. |
| 8 |
Arrest. |
488
|
|
|
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!
| Sher.
To
prison,
then, |
105 |
To answer for the lives of these dead men.
Susan. O God !
O God
!
Sir C.
Sweet
sister, every
strain
Of sorrow from your heart augments my pain ;
Your grief abounds, 1
and hits against my
breast.
Sher. Sir, will you
go ?
| Sir C.
Even where it
likes you best. |
110 |
| |