Can teach all strings to speak in their best

grace,

20

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

chaste thoughts,

25

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

good;

39

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

you !

55

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

at once ?

75

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

hoigh ; 6

85

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

be small,

90

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

seen

105

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 ;

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

kiss me now.

40

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

again —

50

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

the fowl,

15

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 C.                                                 'T is lost.

20

Sir F. I grant it not. Mine likewise seiz'd a
          fowl
Within her talons, and you saw her paws

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

blood,

25

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

me !

40

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-

cents,

45

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

blood,

50

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

rank, 7

85

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

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

                                                                      [Exeunt.]

     Enter MASTER FRANKFORD in a study.

Frank. 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 posses'd of many fair revenues,

5

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; ² but, the chief

Of all the sweet felicities on earth,

10

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 possest, sure, I am he.

                       Enter NICHOLAS.

Nich. Sir, there's a gentleman attends with-

out

15

To speak with you.

Frank.                      On horseback?

Nich.                                            Yes, on horseback.

Frank. Entreat him to alight, I will attend
          him.
Know'st thou him, Nick?

Nich.  Know him? Yes ; his name's Wendoll.
It seems, he comes in haste: his horse is booted ³

Up to the flank in mire, himself all spotted

20

And stain'd 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.

Frank. Entreat him in: about it instantly!
                                                          [Exit NICHOLAS.]

This Wendoll I have noted, and his carriage

25

Hath pleas'd me much; by observation
I have noted many good deserts in him.
He's affable, and seen ⁴ in many things ;
Discourses well; a good companion ;

And though of small means, yet a gentleman

30

Of a good house, though somewhat prest by
          want.
I have preferr'd him to a second place
In my opinion and my best regard.

Enter WENDOLL, MISTRESS FRANKFORD, and
                                  NICHOLAS.

Mrs. F. Oh, Master Frankford! Master Wen-
          doll here
Brings you the strangest news that e'er you

heard.

35

Frank. What news, sweet wife? What news,
          good Master Wendoll?

Wen. You knew the match made 'twixt Sir
          Francis Acton
And Sir Charles Mountford ?

Frank. True; with their hounds and hawks.

Wen. The matches were both play'd.

Frank.                                 Ha ? And which won ?

Wen. Sir Francis, your wife's brother, had

the worst,

40

And lost the wager.

Frank.                       Why, the worse his chance ;
Perhaps the fortune of some other day
Will change his luck.

Mrs. F.                               Oh, but you hear not all.

Sir Francis lost, and yet was loth to yield.

44

At length the two knights grew to difference,
From words to blows, and so to banding sides ; ⁵
Where valorous Sir Charles slew, in his spleen,
Two of your brother's men, — his falconer,
And his good huntsman, whom he lov'd so
          well.
More men were wounded, no more slain out-

right.

50

Frank, Now, trust me, I am sorry for the knight.
But is my brother safe ?

Wen.                                         All whole and sound,
His body not being blemish'd with one wound.
But poor Sir Charles is to the prison led,
To answer at th' assize for them that's dead.

Frank. I thank your pains, sir. Had the news

been better,

56

Your will was to have brought it, Master Wen-
          doll.
Sir Charles will find hard friends; his case is
          heinous
And will be most severely censur'd ⁶ on.

I 'm sorry for him. Sir, a word with you !

60

I know you, sir, to be a gentleman
In all things ; your possibilities ⁷ but mean :
Please you to use my table and my purse ;
They 're yours.

Wen.            O Lord, sir ! I shall ne'er deserve it.

Frank. O sir, disparage not your worth too

much :

65

You are full of quality ⁸ 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 !

70

Wen. 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 !

75

489

Frank. There needs no protestation; for I
          know you
Virtuous, and therefore grateful. — Prithee,
          Nan,
Use him with all thy loving'st courtesy !

Mrs. F. As far as modesty may well extend,

It is my duty to receive your friend.

50

Frank. To dinner! Come, sir, from this pre-
          sent day,
Welcome to me for ever! Come, away !

Nich. I do not like this fellow by no means :
I never see him but my heart still yearns. ¹
Zounds ! I could fight with him, yet know not

why ;

85

The devil and he are all one in mine eye.

                                 Enter JENKIN.

Jen. 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.

90

Nich. 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.

                                Enter CICELY.

Cic. Nich'las ! where are you, Nich'las ? You
must come in, Nich'las, and help the young

gentleman off with his boots.

96

Nich. If I pluck off his boots, I'll eat the
          spurs
And they shall stick fast in my throat like burrs.

Cic. Then, Jenkin, come you !

Jen. Nay,'t is no boot 2 for me to deny it.

100

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.

Cic. Come, come, make haste, that you may

wash your hands again, and help to serve

105

in dinner !

Jen. You may see, my masters, though it be
afternoon with you,'t is yet but early days with
us, for we have not din'd yet. Stay but a little ;

I'll but go in and help to bear up the first

110

course, and come to you again presently.
                                                                                Exeunt.

            Enter MALBY and CRANWELL.

Mal. This is the sessions-day ; pray can you tell me
How young Sir Charles hath sped ? Is he acquit,
Or must he try the laws' strict penalty ?

Cran. He's clear'd of all, spite of his ene-
          mies

Whose earnest labour was to take his life.

5

But in this suit of pardon he hath spent
All the revenues that his father left him ;
And he is now turn'd a plain countryman,
Reform'd ⁴ in all things. See, sir, here he
          comes.

         Enter SIR CHARLES and his Keeper.

Keep. Discharge your fees, and you are then

at freedom.

10

Sir C. Here, Master Keeper, take the poor remainder
Of all the wealth I have ! My heavy foes
Have made my purse light; but, alas I to me
'T is wealth enough that you have set me free.

Mal. God give you joy of your delivery !

15

I am glad to see you abroad, Sir Charles.

Sir C. The poorest knight in England, Mas-
          ter Malby.
My life has cost me all my patrimony
My father left his son. Well, God forgive them

That are the authors of my penury !

20

                              Enter SHAFTON.

Shaft. Sir Charles ! A hand, a hand ! At lib-
          erty ?
Now, by the faith I owe, I am glad to see it.
what want you ? Wherein may I pleasure you ?

Sir C. Oh me! Oh, most unhappy gentle-
          man !

I am not worthy to have friends stirr'd up,

25

Whose hands may help me in this plunge of
          want.
I would I were in Heaven, to inherit there
Th' immortal birthright which my Saviour
          keeps,
And by no unthrift can be bought and sold ;
For here on earth what pleasures should we

trust !

30

Shaft. To rid you from these contemplations,
Three hundred pounds you shall receive of
          me ;
Nay, five for fail. ⁵ Come, sir, the sight of gold
Is the most sweet receipt for melancholy,
And will revive your spirits. You shall hold

law

35

With your proud adversaries. Tush I 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 C.           Oh, sir !  they have undone me.

40

Two thousand and five hundred pound a year
My father at his death possest me of ;
All which the envious Acton made me spend ;
And, notwithstanding all this large expense,

I had much ado to gain my liberty ;

45

And I have only now a house of pleasure,
With some five hundred pounds reserv'd,
Both to maintain me and my loving sister.

Shaft. [Aside.] That must I have, it lies con-
          venient for me.

If I can fasten but one finger on him,

50

With my full hand I'll gripe him to the heart.
'T is not for love I proffer'd him this coin,
But for my gain and pleasure. — Come, Sir
          Charles,
I know you have need of money; take my offer.

490

[Aside.] I will not speak to wrong a gentle-
         man

Of that good estimation, my kind friend.

95

I will not; zounds! I will not. I may choose,
And I will choose. Shall I be so misled,
Or shall I purchase ¹ to my father's crest
The motto of a villain ? If I say

I will not do it, what thing can enforce me ?

100

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 :

105

Injure myself, wrong her, deceive his trust!

Mrs. F. Are you not well, sir, that you seem
         thus troubled ?
There is sedition in your countenance.

Wen. And in my heart, fair angel, chaste

and wise.

109

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.

Mrs. F.                  The host of Heaven forbid
Wendoll should hatch such a disloyal thought ?

Wen. Such is my fate ; to this suit was I

born,

115

To wear rich pleasure's crown, or fortune's
         scorn.

Mrs. F.    My husband loves you.

Wen.                               I know it.
Mrs., F.                               He esteems you,
Even as his brain, his eye-ball, or his heart.

Wen. I have tried it.

Mrs. F. His purse is your exchequer, and his

table

120

Doth freely serve you.

Wen.                          So I have found it.

Mrs. F. Oh ! With what face of brass, what
         brow of steel,
Can you, unblushing, speak this to the face

Of the espous'd wife of so dear a friend ?

124

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.

Wen.                            O speak no more ;
For more than this I know, and have recorded

Within the red-leav'd table of my heart.

130

Fair, and of all belov'd, 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 ;

135

'T was for your sake. Perchance, in rage he'll
         kill me ;
I care not, 't was 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 re-

proach, —

140

For you I'll hazard all. Why, what care I ?
For you I'll live, and in your love I'll die.

Mrs. F. You move me, sir, to passion and to
         pity.
The love I bear my husband is as precious
As my soul's health.

Wen.                       I love your husband too,

145

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 to him.

I will be secret, lady, close as night ;

150

And not the light of one small glorious star
Shall shine here in my forehead, to bewray
That act of night.

Mrs. F.              What shall I say ?
My soul is wandering, hath lost her way.
Oh, Master Wendoll ! Oh !

Wen.                          Sigh not, sweet saint ;

155

For every sigh you breathe draws from my
         heart
A drop of blood.

Mrs. F.                 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.

160

I blush, and am asham'd. Oh, Master Wen-
         doll,
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.

Enter NICHOLAS [behind].

Wen. The path of pleasure and the gate to

bliss,

165

Which on your lips I knock at with a kiss !

Nich. I 'll kill the rogue.

Wen. Your husband is from home, your bed's
         no blab.
Nay, look not down and blush !
                  [Exeunt WENDOLL and MISTRESS
                      FRANKFORD.]

Nich.                                     Zounds ! I'll stab.
Ay, Nick, was it thy chance to come just in the

nick ?

170

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 that rascal Wendoll go on legs

175

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.²

I never look'd for better of that rascal,

180

Since he came miching ³ 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,

185

Wendoll's a knave, my mistress is a —

492

Enter SIR CHARLES MOUNTFORD and Susan.

Sir C. Sister, you see we are driven to hard shift
To keep this poor house we have left unsold.
I 'm now enforc'd to follow husbandry,
And you to milk ; and do we not live well ?
Well, I thank God.

Susan.          Oh, brother ! here's a change,

5

Since old Sir Charles died in our father's house.

Sir C. All things on earth thus change,
         some up, some down ;
Content's a kingdom, and I wear that crown.

         Enter SHAFTON, with a Sergeant.

Shaft. Good morrow, morrow, Sir Charles !
         What ! With your sister,
Plying your husbandry ? — Sergeant, 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 C. Oh, pardon me; this house succes-

sively

15

Hath long'd to me and my progenitors
Three hundred years. My great-great-grand-
         father,
He in whom first our gentle style began,
Dwelt here, and in this ground increast this
         mole-hill
Unto that mountain which my father left me.

Where he the first of all our house began,

21

I now the last will end, and keep this house, —
This virgin title, never yet deflower'd
By any unthrift of the Mountfords' line.

In brief, I will not sell it for more gold

25

Than you could hide or pave the ground withal.

Shaft. Ha, ha ! a proud mind and a beggar's
         purse !
Where's my three hundred pounds, besides the
         use ? ²

I have brought it to an execution

29

By course of law. What! Is my money ready ?

Sir C.   An execution, sir, and never tell me
You put my bond in suit? You deal extremely.³

Shaft. Sell me the land, and I 'll acquit you straight.

Sir C. Alas, alas ! 'T is all trouble hath left
         me

To cherish me and my poor sister's life.

35

If this were sold, our names should then be
         quite
Raz'd from' the bead-roll ⁴ of gentility.
You see what hard shift we have made to keep
         it
Allied still to our name. This palm you see,

Labour hath glow'd within; her silver brow,

40

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

45

And our succession this small spot of ground.

Sir C. I have so bent my thoughts to hus-
         bandry,
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

50

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 desir'd. What should I

say ?

55

To keep this place, I have chang'd myself
         away.

Shaft. 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.

60

The keeper is my friend; thou shalt have irons,
And usage such as I'll deny to dogs. —
Away with him !

Sir C.                       You are too timorous.⁵
But trouble is my master,
And I will serve him truly. — My kind sister,

Thy tears are of no use to mollify

66

The flinty man. Go to my father's brother,
My kinsmen, and allies; entreat them for me,
To transom me from this injurious man
That seeks my ruin.

Shaft.                     Come, irons ! Come away ;

70

I'll see thee lodg'd far from the sight of day.
                                              Exeunt [except SUSAN].

Susan. My heart's so hard'ned with the frost
         of grief,
Death cannot pierce it through. — Tyrant too
         fell !
So lead the fiends condemned souls to hell.

         Enter SIR FRANCIS ACTON and MALBY.

Sir F. Again to prison! Malby, hast thou

seen

75

A poor slave better tortur'd ? Shall we hear
The music of his voice cry from the grate, ⁶
Meat, for the Lord's sake ? No, no ; yet I am
         not
Throughly reveng'd. They say, he hath a pretty
         wench

Unto his sister ; shall I, in mercy-sake

80

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.

Mal. Methinks, Sir Francis, you are full re-

veng'd

85

For greater wrongs than he can proffer you.
See where the poor sad gentlewoman stands!

Sir F. Ha, ha ! Now will I flout her poverty,
Deride her fortunes, scoff her base estate ;

My very soul the name of Mountford hates.

90

But stay, my heart ! Oh, what a look did fly

493

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 F.                                   O chaste and fair !

95

Mal. Sir Francis ! Why, Sir Francis! Zounds,
         in a trance?
Sir Francis ! What cheer, man? Come, come,
         how is 't ?

Sir F. Was she not fair? Or else this judging eye
Cannot distinguish beauty.

Mal.                                              She was fair.

99

Sir F. 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, turn'd

fool

105

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 oppos'd

110

In all contractions ¹ 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. ]

Enter three or four Serving-men, one with a voi-
    der ³  and a wooden knife,  to take away all ;
    another the salt and bread; another with the
    table-cloth and napkins; another the carpet; ⁴
    JENKIN with two lights after them.

Jen. So ; march in order, and retire in
battle array ! My master and the guests have
supp'd already ; all's taken away. Here, now
spread for the serving-men in the hall ! — But-

ler, it belongs to your office.

5

But. I know it, Jenkin. What d' ye call the
gentleman that supp'd there to-night ?

Jen. Who? My master?

But. No, no ; Master Wendoll, he's a daily

guest. I mean the gentleman that came

10

but this afternoon.

Jen. His name's Master Cranwell. God's
light! Hark, within there; my master calls to
lay more billets ⁵ upon the fire. Come, come!

Lord, how we that are in office here in the

15

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, Nicholas.
                                   Exeunt [all but NICHOLAS].

Nich. I cannot eat; but had I Wendoll's

heart,

20

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.

25

Enter MASTER FRANKFORD, as it were brushing
   the crumbs from his clothes with a napkin, as
   newly risen from supper.

Frank. Nicholas, what make you here? Why
           are not you
At supper in the hall, among your fellows ?

Nich. Master, I stay'd your rising from the
           board,
To speak with you.

Frank.                   Be brief then, gentle Nicholas

My wife and guests attend 6 me in the parlour.

30

Why dost thou pause ? Now, Nicholas, you
            want money,
And, unthrift-like, would eat into your wages
Ere you had earn'd it. Here, sir, 's half-a-crown ;
Play the good husband, ⁷ — and away to supper !

Nich. By this hand, an honourable gentle-

man! I will not see him wrong'd.

35

Sir, I have serv'd you long ; you entertain'd me
Seven years before your beard; you knew me,
             sir,
Before you knew my mistress.

Frank. What of this, good Nicholas ?

Nich.  I never was a make-bate 8 or a knave ;

40

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.

Frank. What preparation 's this to dismal

news ?

45

Nich. 'Sblood ! sir, I love you better than
            your wife.
I'll make it good.

Frank. 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.

50

I'll turn you, with your base comparisons,
Out of my doors.

Nich.                            Do, do.
There is not room for Wendoll and me too,
Both in one house. O master, master,
That Wendoll is a villain !

Frank.                                      Ay, saucy ?

55

Nich. 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, the base slave
Enjoys my mistress, and dishonours you.

Frank. Thou hast kill'd me with a weapon,

whose sharp point

60

Hath prick'd quite through and through my
         shiv'ring heart.
Drops of cold sweat sit dangling on my hairs,
Like morning's dew upon the golden flowers,

494

And I am plung'd into strange agonies.
What did'st thou say ? If any word that

toucht

65

His credit, or her reputation,
It is as hard to enter my belief,
As Dives into heaven.

Nich. I can gain nothing :
They are two that never wrong'd me. I knew
             before

'T was but a thankless office, and perhaps

70

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.

75

Frank. 'T is 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? Oh, may it ? Can it be ?

80

Is it by any wonder possible ?
Man, woman, what thing mortal can we trust,
When friends and bosom wives prove so un-
          just ? —
What instance ¹ hast thou of this strange re-
          port ?

Nich. Eyes, [master,] eyes.

85

Frank. Thy eyes may be deceiv'd, 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.

90

Nich. Shall I discourse the same by circum-
          stance ?

Frank. 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.

95

Nich. I am dumb ; and, now that I have
          eas'd my stomach, ²
I will go fill my stomach.                    [Exit. ]

Frank.                         Away ! Begone ! —
She is well born, descended nobly ;
Virtuous her education; her repute

Is in the general voice of all the country

100

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,

Hath sold me for a sin. O God ! O God !

106

Shall I put up these wrongs ? No ! Shall I
          trust
The bare report of this suspicious groom,
Before the double-gilt, the well-hatch'd ³ ore
Of their two hearts? No, I will lose these

thoughts ;

110

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,

115

And gentle Master Cranwell !

Enter MISTRESS FRANKFORD, MASTER WEN-
DOLL,  MASTER CRANWELL,  NICHOLAS, and
JENKIN with cards, carpets, stools, and other
necessaries.

Frank. O ! Master Cranwell, you are a
          stranger here,
And often balk ⁴ my house; faith, y'are
          churl ! —
Now we have supp'd, a table, and to cards!

Jen. A pair ⁵ of cards, Nicholas, and a carpet

to cover the table! Where's Cicely, with her

121

counters and her box ? Candles and candlesticks,
there ! Fie ! We have such a household of ser-
ring-creatures! Unless it be Nick and I, there's
not one amongst them all that can say bo to a

goose. — Well said, 6 Nick !

126

                     They spread a carpet : set down
                        lights and cards.

Mrs. F. Come, Mr. Frankford, who shall take
          my part ? ⁷

Frank. Marry, that will I, sweet wife.

129

Wen. No, by my faith, when you are to-
gether, I sit out. It must be Mistress Frank-
ford and I, or else it is no match.

Frank. I do not like that match.
Nigh. [Aside.] You have no reason, marry,

knowing all.

135

Frank. 'T is no great matter, neither. —
Come, Master Cranwell, shall you and I take
          them up ? ⁸

Cran. At your pleasure, sir.

139

Frank. I must look to you, Master Wendoll,
for you'll be playing false. Nay, so will my wife, too.

Nich. [Aside.] Ay, I will be sworn she will.

Mrs F. Let them that are taken playing false,

forfeit the set !

145

Frank. Content; it shall go hard but I'll take
          you.

Cran. Gentlemen, what shall our game be ?

Wen. Master Frankford, you play best at
          noddy. ⁹

Frank. You shall not find it so; indeed, you
          shall not.

Mrs. F. I can play at nothing so well as

double-ruff. 10

150

Frank. If Master Wendoll and my wife be
together, there's no playing against them at
double-hand.

Nich. I can tell you, sir, the game that Mas-

ter Wendoll is best at.

155

Wen. What game is that, Nick?

Nich. Marry, sir, knave out of doors.

Wen. She and I will take you at lodam.

Mrs. F. Husband, shall we play at saint ?

495

Frank. [Aside.] My saint's turn'd devil. —

No, we'll none of saint:

160

You are best at new-cut, wife, you'll play at
          that.

Wen. If you play at new-cut, I'm soonest hit-
          ter of any here, for a wager.

Frank. [Aside.] 'T is me they play on. —

Well, you may draw out;

164

For all your cunning, 't will be to your shame;
I'll teach you, at your new-cut, a new game.
Come, come!

Cran. If you cannot agree upon the game,
To post and pair!

Wen. We shall be soonest pairs; and my good           host,

170

When he comes late home, he must kiss the
          post.¹

Frank. Whoever wins, it shall be to thy
          cost.

Cran. Faith, let it be vide-ruff, and let 's
          make honours!

Frank. If you make honours, one thing let
          me crave:
Honour the king and queen, except the

knave.

175

Wen. Well, as you please for that. — Lift, ²
          who shall deal?

Mrs. F. The least in sight. What are you,
          Master Wendoll?

Wen. I am a knave.

Nich. [Aside.]        I'll swear it.

Mrs. F.                                    I a queen.

Frank. [Aside.] A quean, thou should'st say.
          — Well, the cards are mine:

They are the grossest pair that e'er I felt.

180

Mrs. F.  Shuffle, I'll cut: would I had never
          dealt!

Frank. I have lost my dealing.

Wen.                                  Sir, the fault's in me;
This queen I have more than mine own, you see.
Give me the stock! ³

Frank.                    My mind's not on my game.
Many a deal I've lost; the more's your shame.
You have serv'd me a bad trick, Master Wen-

doll.

186

Wen. Sir, you must take your lot. To end
          this strife,
I know I have dealt better with your wife.

Frank. Thou hast dealt falsely, then.

Mrs. F. What's trumps?

190

Wen.  Hearts. Partner, I rub.

Frank. [Aside.] Thou robb'st me of my soul,
          of her chaste love;
In thy false dealing thou hast robb'd my
          heart. —
Booty you play; I like a loser stand,

Having no heart, or here or in my hand.

195

I will give o'er the set, I am not well.
Come, who will hold my cards?

Mrs. F. Not well, sweet Master Frankford?
Alas, what ails you? 'T is some sudden qualm.

Wen. How long have you been so, Master

Frankford?

200

Frank. Sir, I was lusty, and I had my
          health,
But I grew ill when you began to deal. —
Take hence this table! — Gentle Master Cran-
          well,
Y' are welcome; see your chamber at your
          pleasure!

I am sorry that this megrim takes me so,

205

I cannot sit and bear you company. —
Jenkin, some lights, and show him to his
          chamber! ⁴

Mrs. F. A nightgown for my husband;
          quickly, there!
It is some rheum or cold.

Wen.                                Now, in good faith,

This illness you have got by sitting late

210

Without your gown.

Frank.                  I know it, Master Wendoll.
Go, go to bed, lest you complain like me! —
Wife, prithee, 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.

215

Wen. Sweet sir, good night!

Frank. Myself, good night! [Exit Wendoll.]

Mrs. F.          Shall I attend you, husband?

Frank. No, gentle wife, thou 'lt catch cold
          in thy head.
Prithee, begone, sweet; I'll make haste to
          bed.

Mrs. F. No sleep will fasten on mine eyes,

you know,

220

Until you come. [Exit. ]

Frank.            Sweet Nan, I prithee, go! —
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 com-

past,

225

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.

Nich. Build on my faith!

Frank.                 To bed, then, not to rest!

Care lodges in my brain, grief in my breast.

231

                                                  [Exeunt. ]

Enter SIR CHARLES'S Sister, OLD MOUNTFORD,
                SANDY, RODER, and TIDY.

Old Mount. You say my nephew is in great
          distress;
Who brought it to him but his own lewd life?
I cannot spare a cross. I must confess,
He was my brother's son; why, niece, what
          then?

This is no world in which to pity men.

5

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,

496

For the name's sake, for Christianity, —

10

Nay, for God's sake, to pity his distress.
He is deni'd the freedom of the prison,
And in the hole is laid with men condemn'd;
Plenty he hath of nothing but of irons,

And it remains in you to free him thence.

15

Old Mount. 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.

20

Sandy. I knew you, lady, when the old man
         liv'd;
I knew you ere your brother sold his land.
Then you were Mistress Sue, trick'd up in
         jewels;
Then you sung well, play'd sweetly on the lute;

But now I neither know you nor your suit.

25

Susan. You, Master Roder, was my brother's
         tenant;
Rent-free he plac'd you in that wealthy farm,
Of which you are possest.

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 hurl'd him in, will help him

out.                                              Exit.

31

Susan. Cold comfort still. What say you,
         cousin Tidy?

Tidy.  I say this comes of roysting, ¹ swag-
         g'ring.
Call me not cousin; each man for himself!
Some men are born to mirth, and some to sor-

row:

35

I am no cousin unto them that borrow.    Exit.

Susan. O Charity, why art thou fled to
         heaven,
And left all things [up]on this earth uneven?
Their scoffing answers I will ne'er return,

But to myself his grief in silence mourn.

40

         Enter SIR FRANCIS and MALBY.

Sir F. She is poor, I'll therefore tempt her
          with this gold.
Go, Malby, in my name deliver it,
And I will stay thy answer.

Mal. 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,

46

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!

Mal. This gold Sir Francis Acton sends by

me,

50

And prays you ——

Susan. Acton? O God! That name I'm born
          to curse.
Hence, bawd; hence, broker! See, I spurn his
          gold.
My honour never shall for gain be sold.

Sir F. Stay, lady, stay!

Susan.                     From you I'll posting hie,

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Even as the doves from feather'd eagles fly.
                                                             Exit.

Sir F. She hates my name, my face; how
          should I woo?
I am disgrac'd in every thing I do.
The more she hates me, and disdains my love,

The more I am rapt in admiration

60

Of her divine and chaste perfections.
Woo her with gifts I cannot, for all gifts
Sent in my name she spurns; with looks I can-
          not,
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,

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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 huntsmen's

death,

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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;

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To save his life, I his appeal will stay.
                                                     [Exeunt. ]

Enter    SIR  CHARLES  [MOUNTFORD],   in   prison,
   with irons, his feet bare, his garments all ragged
   and torn.

Sir F. Of all on the earth's face most miser-
          able,
Breathe in this hellish dungeon thy laments!
Thus like a slave ragg'd, like a felon gyv'd, —
That hurls thee headlong to this base estate.

Oh, unkind uncle! Oh, my friends ingrate!

5

Unthankful kinsmen! Mountford 's all too base,
To let thy name be fetter'd 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.

10

But that which most torments me, my dear
          sister
Hath left ³ 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

15

Attend their covetous thoughts; need make
          their graves!
Usurers they live, and may they die like slaves!

                    Enter Keeper.

Keep. Knight, be of comfort, for I bring thee
          freedom
From all thy troubles.

Sir C.                     Then, I am doom'd to die:

Death is the end of all calamity.

20

Keep. Live! Your appeal is stay'd; the execution
Of all your debts discharg'd; your creditors
Even to the utmost penny satisfied.

497