SCENE I.—A Room in Old MOUNTFORD’S House.
ENTER SUSAN, OLD MOUNTFORD, SANDY, RODER, AND TIDY.
OLD MOUNTFORD.
You say my nephew is in great distress:
Who brought it to him, but his own lewd life?
I cannot spare a cross.[32] I must confess
He was my brother’s son: why, niece, what then?
This is no world in which to pity men.
SUSAN.
I was not born a beggar, though his extremes
Enforce this language from me: I protest
No fortune of mine own could lead my tongue
To this base key. I do beseech you, uncle,
For the name’s sake, for Christianity,
Nay, for God’s sake, to pity his distress:
He is denied the freedom of the prison,
And in the hole is laid with men condemned;
Plenty he hath of nothing but of irons,
And it remains in you to free him thence.
OLD MOUNTFORD.
Money I cannot spare; men should take heed;
He lost my kindred when he fell to need. [Exit.
SUSAN.
Gold is but earth, thou earth enough shalt have,
When thou hast once took measure of thy grave.
You know me, Master Sandy, and my suit.
SANDY.
I knew you, lady, when the old man lived;
I knew you ere your brother sold his land;
Then you sung well, played sweetly on the lute;
But now I neither know you nor your suit. [Exit.
SUSAN.
You, Master Roder, was my brother’s tenant,
Rent free he placed you in that wealthy farm,
Of which you are possessed.
RODER.
True, he did;
And have I not there dwelt still for his sake?
I have some business now; but, without doubt,
They that have hurled him in will help him out. [Exit.
SUSAN.
Cold comfort still: what say you, cousin Tidy?
TIDY.
I say this comes of roysting, swaggering.
Call me not cousin: each man for himself.
Some men are born to mirth, and some to sorrow.
I am no cousin unto them that borrow. [Exit.
SUSAN.
O charity! why art thou fled to heaven,
And left all things upon this earth uneven?
Their scoffing answers I will ne’er return;
But to myself his grief in silence mourn.
ENTER SIR FRANCIS ACTON AND
MALBY.
SIR FRANCIS ACTON.
She is poor, I’ll therefore tempt her with this gold.
Go, Malby, in my name deliver it,
And I will stay thy answer.
MALBY.
Fair mistress, as I understand, your grief
Doth grow from want, so I have here in store
A means to furnish you, a bag of gold,
Which to your hands I freely tender you.
SUSAN.
I thank you, Heavens! I thank you, gentle sir:
God make me able to requite this favour!
MALBY.
This gold Sir Francis Acton sends by me,
And prays you——
SUSAN.
Acton! O God! that name I am born to curse:
Hence, bawd! hence, broker! see, I spurn his gold;
My honour never shall for gain be sold.
SIR FRANCIS ACTON.
Stay, lady, stay.
SUSAN.
From you I’ll posting hie,
Even as the doves from feathered eagles fly. [Exit.
SIR FRANCIS ACTON.
She hates my name, my face: how should I woo?
I am disgraced in every thing I do.
The more she hates me, and disdains my love,
The more I am rapt in admiration
Of her divine and chaste perfections.
Woo her with gifts I cannot, for all gifts
Sent in my name she spurns: with looks I cannot,
For she abhors my sight; nor yet with letters,
For none she will receive. How then, how then?
Well, I will fasten such a kindness on her
As shall o’ercome her hate and conquer it.
Sir Charles, her brother, lies in execution
For a great sum of money; and, besides,
The appeal is sued still for my huntsman’s death,
Which only I have power to reverse:
In her I’ll bury all my hate of him.
Go seek the keeper, Malby, bring him to me:
To save his body, I his debts will pay;
To save his life, I his appeal will stay.
[Exeunt.
Enter Sir CHARLES MOUNTFORD, with irons, his feet bare, his garments all ragged and torn.
SIR CHARLES MOUNTFORD.
Of all on the earth’s face most miserable,
Breathe in this hellish dungeon thy laments,
Thus like a slave ragged, like a felon gyved.
What hurls thee headlong to this base estate?
O unkind uncle! O my friends ingrate!
Unthankful kinsmen! Mountford’s all too base,
To let thy name be fettered in disgrace!
A thousand deaths here in this grave I die;
Fear, hunger, sorrow, cold, all threat my death,
And join together to deprive my breath.
But that which most torments me, my dear sister
Hath left to visit me, and from my friends
Hath brought no hopeful answer: therefore I
Divine they will not help my misery.
If it be so, shame, scandal, and contempt
Attend their covetous thoughts; need make their graves!
Usurers they live, and may they die like slaves!
Enter
Keeper.
KEEPER.
Knight, be of comfort, for I bring thee freedom
From all thy troubles.
SIR CHARLES MOUNTFORD.
Then I am doomed to die;
Death is the end of all calamity.
KEEPER.
Live: your appeal is stayed; the execution
Of all your debts discharged; your creditors
Even to the utmost penny satisfied.
In sign whereof, your shackles I knock off;
You are not left so much indebted to us
As for your fees; all is discharged, all paid.
Go freely to your house, or where you please;
After long miseries, embrace your ease.
SIR CHARLES MOUNTFORD.
Thou grumblest out the sweetest music to me
That ever organ played. Is this a dream?
Or do my waking senses apprehend
The pleasing taste of these applausive news?
Slave that I was, to wrong such honest friends,
My loving kinsmen, and my near allies.
Tongue, I will bite thee for the scandal breathed
Against such faithful kinsmen: they are all
Composed of pity and compassion,
Of melting charity, and of moving ruth.
That which I spake before was in my rage;
They are my friends, the mirrors of this age,
Bounteous and free. The noble Mountford’s race,
Ne’er bred a covetous thought, or humour base.
Enter
SUSAN.
SUSAN.
I can no longer stay from visiting
My woful brother: while I could, I kept
My hapless tidings from his hopeful ear.
SIR CHARLES MOUNTFORD.
Sister, how much am I indebted to thee,
And to thy travel!
SUSAN.
What, at liberty?
SIR CHARLES MOUNTFORD.
Thou seest I am, thanks to thy industry:
Oh! unto which of all my courteous friends
Am I thus bound? My uncle Mountford, he
Even of an infant loved me: was it he?
So did my cousin Tidy; was it he?
So Master Roder, Master Sandy too:
Which of all these did this high kindness do?
SUSAN.
Charles, can you mock me in your poverty,
Knowing your friends deride your misery?
Now, I protest I stand so much amazed
To see your bonds free, and your irons knocked off,
That I am rapt into a maze of wonder:
The rather for I know not by what means
This happiness hath chanced.
SIR CHARLES MOUNTFORD.
Why, by my uncle,
My cousins, and my friends: who else, I pray,
Would take upon them all my debts to pay?
SUSAN.
O brother, they are men all of flint,
Pictures of marble, and as void of pity
As chased bears. I begged, I sued, I kneeled,
Laid open all your griefs and miseries,
Which they derided; more than that, denied us
A part in their alliance; but, in pride,
Said that our kindred with our plenty died.
SIR CHARLES MOUNTFORD.
Drudges too much—what did they? oh, known evil!
Rich fly the poor, as good men shun the devil.
Whence should my freedom come? of whom alive,
Saving of those, have I deserved so well?
Guess, sister, call to mind, remember[33] me:
These I have raised; they follow the world’s guise;
Whom rich in honour, they in woe despise.
SUSAN.
My wits have lost themselves, let’s ask the keeper.
SIR CHARLES MOUNTFORD.
Gaoler!
KEEPER.
At hand, sir.
SIR CHARLES MOUNTFORD.
Of courtesy resolve me one demand.
What was he took the burthen of my debts
From off my back, stayed my appeal to death,
Discharged my fees, and brought me liberty?
KEEPER.
A courteous knight, one called
Sir Francis Acton.
SIR CHARLES MOUNTFORD.
Ha! Acton! O me, more distressed in this
Than all my troubles! hale me back,
Double my irons, and my sparing meals
Put into halves, and lodge me in a dungeon
More deep, more dark, more cold, more comfortless.
By Acton freed! not all thy manacles
Could fetter so my heels as this one word
Hath thralled my heart; and it must now lie bound
In more strict prison than thy stony gaol.
I am not free; I go but under bail.
KEEPER.
My charge is done, sir, now I have my fees;
As we get little, we will nothing leese.[34] [Exit.
SIR CHARLES MOUNTFORD.
By Acton freed, my dangerous opposite!
Why, to what end? on what occasion? ha!
Let me forget the name of enemy,
And with indifference balance this high favour:
Ha!
SUSAN.
[Aside.] His love to me? upon my soul ’tis so:
That is the root from whence these strange things grow.
SIR CHARLES MOUNTFORD.
Had this proceeded from my father, he
That by the law of nature is most bound
In offices of love, it had deserved
My best employment to requite that grace:
Had it proceeded from my friends or him,
From them this action had deserved my life:
And from a stranger more; because from such
There is less expectation[35] of good deeds.
But he, nor father, nor ally, nor friend,
More than a stranger, both remote in blood
And in his heart opposed my enemy,—
That this high bounty should proceed from him,—
Oh, there I lose myself! What should I say,
What think, what do, his bounty to repay?
SUSAN.
You, wonder, I am sure, whence this strange kindness
Proceeds in Acton. I will tell you, brother:
He dotes on me, and oft hath sent me gifts,
Letters and tokens: I refused them all.
SIR CHARLES MOUNTFORD.
I have enough, though poor; my heart is set,
In one rich gift to pay back all my debt.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.—A Room in FRANKFORD’S House.
Enter FRANKFORD, and NICHOLAS with keys.
FRANKFORD.
This is the night that I must play my part
To try two seeming angels. Where’s my keys?
NICHOLAS.
They are made according to your mould in wax:
I bade the smith be secret, gave him money,
And here they are. The letter, sir.
FRANKFORD.
True, take it, there it is; [Gives him letter.
And when thou seest me in my pleasant’st vein,
Ready to sit to supper, bring it me.
NICHOLAS.
I’ll do’t, make no more question but I’ll do’t. [Exit.
ENTER MISTRESS FRANKFORD, CRANWELL, WENDOLL, AND
JENKIN.
MISTRESS
FRANKFORD.
Sirrah, ’tis six o’clock already struck!
Go bid them spread the cloth and serve in supper.
JENKIN.
It shall be done, forsooth, mistress. Where’s Spigot, the butler, to give us out salt and trenchers? [Exit.
WENDOLL.
We that have been a-hunting all the day
Come with preparèd stomachs. Master Frankford,
We wished you at our sport.
FRANKFORD.
My heart was with you, and my mind was on you.
Fie, Master Cranwell! you are still thus sad?
A stool, a stool. Where’s Jenkin, and where’s Nick?
’Tis supper-time at least an hour ago.
What’s the best news abroad?
WENDOLL.
I know none good.
FRANKFORD.
But I know too much bad. [Aside.
Enter JENKIN and Butler with a table-cloth, bread, trenchers, and salt.
CRANWELL.
Methinks, sir, you might have that interest
In your wife’s brother, to be more remiss
In his hard dealing against poor Sir Charles,
Who, as I hear, lies in York Castle, needy,
And in great want.
[Exeunt JENKIN and
Butler.
FRANKFORD.
Did not more weighty business of my own
Hold me away, I would have laboured peace
Betwixt them, with all care; indeed I would, sir.
MISTRESS
FRANKFORD.
I’ll write unto my brother earnestly
In that behalf.
WENDOLL.
A charitable deed,
And will beget the good opinion
Of all your friends that love you,
Mistress
Frankford.
FRANKFORD.
That’s you for one; I know you love Sir Charles,
And my wife too, well.
WENDOLL.
He deserves the love
Of all true gentlemen; be yourselves judge.
FRANKFORD.
But supper, ho! Now as thou lov’st me, Wendoll,
Which I am sure thou dost, be merry, pleasant,
And frolic it to-night. Sweet Master Cranwell,
Do you the like. Wife, I protest my heart
Was ne’er more bent on sweet alacrity.
Where be those lazy knaves to serve in supper?
Re-enter
NICHOLAS.
NICHOLAS.
Here’s a letter, sir.
FRANKFORD.
Whence comes it? and who brought it?
NICHOLAS.
A stripling that below attends your answer,
And, as he tells me, it is sent from York.
FRANKFORD.
Have him into the cellar; let him taste
A cup of our March beer: go, make him drink. [Reads the letter.
NICHOLAS.
I’ll make him drunk, if he be a Trojan.
FRANKFORD.
My boots and spurs! where’s Jenkin? God forgive me,
How I neglect my business! Wife, look here;
I have a matter to be tried to-morrow
By eight o’clock, and my attorney writes me,
I must be there betimes with evidence,
Or it will go against me. Where’s my boots?
Re-enter JENKIN with boots and spurs.
MISTRESS
FRANKFORD.
I hope your business craves no such despatch
That you must ride to-night.
WENDOLL.
[Aside.] I hope it doth.
FRANKFORD.
God’s me! no such despatch!
Jenkin, my boots. Where’s Nick? Saddle my roan,
And the grey dapple for himself. Content ye,
It much concerns me. Gentle Master Cranwell,
And Master Wendoll, in my absence use
The very ripest pleasures of my house.
WENDOLL.
Lord! Master Frankford, will you ride to-night?
The ways are dangerous.
FRANKFORD.
Therefore will I ride
Appointed well; and so shall Nick my man.
MISTRESS
FRANKFORD.
I’ll call you up by five o’clock to-morrow.
FRANKFORD.
No, by my faith, wife, I’ll not trust to that;
’Tis not such easy rising in a morning
From one I love so dearly: no, by my faith,
I shall not leave so sweet a bedfellow,
But with much pain. You have made me a sluggard
Since I first knew you.
MISTRESS
FRANKFORD.
Then, if you needs will go
This dangerous evening, Master Wendoll,
Let me entreat you bear him company.
WENDOLL.
With all my heart, sweet mistress. My boots there!
FRANKFORD.
Fie, fie, that for my private business
I should disease[36] my friend, and be a trouble
To the whole house! Nick!
NICHOLAS.
Anon, sir.
FRANKFORD.
Bring forth my gelding.—[Exit NICHOLAS.]—As you love me, sir,
Use no more words: a hand, good Master
Cranwell.
CRANWELL.
Sir, God be your good speed!
FRANKFORD.
Good night, sweet Nan; nay, nay, a kiss and part.
[Aside.] Dissembling lips, you suit not with my heart. [Exit.
WENDOLL.
How business, time, and hours, all gracious prove,
And are the furtherers to my new-born love!
I am husband now in Master Frankford’s place,
And must command the house. My pleasure is
We will not sup abroad so publicly,
But in your private chamber,
Mistress
Frankford.
MISTRESS
FRANKFORD.
O, sir, you are too public in your love,
And Master Frankford’s wife——
CRANWELL.
Might I crave favour,
I would entreat you I might see my chamber;
I am on the sudden grown exceeding ill,
And would be spared from supper.
WENDOLL.
Light there, ho!
See you want nothing, sir; for, if you do,
You injure that good man, and wrong me too.
CRANWELL.
I will make bold: good night. [Exit.
WENDOLL.
How all conspire
To make our bosom sweet, and full entire!
Come, Nan, I prythee let us sup within.
MISTRESS
FRANKFORD.
Oh, what a clog unto the soul is sin!
We pale offenders are still full of fear;
Every suspicious eye brings danger near,
When they whose clear hearts from offence are free
Despise report, base scandals do outface,
And stand at mere defiance with disgrace.
WENDOLL.
Fie, fie! you talk too like a puritan.
MISTRESS
FRANKFORD.
You have tempted me to mischief, Master Wendoll:
I have done I know not what. Well, you plead custom;
That which for want of wit I granted erst,
I now must yield through fear. Come, come, let’s in;
Once o’er shoes, we are straight o’er head in sin.
WENDOLL.
My jocund soul is joyful above measure;
I’ll be profuse in Frankford’s richest treasure.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.—Another part of the House.
ENTER CICELY, JENKIN, AND
BUTLER.
JENKIN.
My mistress and Master Wendoll, my master, sup in her chamber to-night. Cicely, you are preferred from being the cook to be chambermaid: of all the loves betwixt thee and me, tell me what thou thinkest of this?
CICELY.
Mum; there’s an old proverb,—when the cat’s away, the mouse may play.
JENKIN.
Now you talk of a cat, Cicely, I smell a rat.
CICELY.
Good words, Jenkin, lest you be called to answer them.
JENKIN.
Why, God make my mistress an honest woman! are not these good words? Pray God my new master play not the knave with my old master! is there any hurt in this? God send no villainy intended! and, if they do sup together, pray God they do not lie together! God make my mistress chaste, and make us all His servants! what harm is there in all this? Nay, more; here is my hand, thou shalt never have my heart unless thou say Amen.
CICELY.
Amen, I pray God, I say.
Enter Serving-man.
SERVING-MAN.
My mistress sends that you should make less noise, to lock up the doors, and see the household all got to bed: you, Jenkin, for this night are made the porter to see the gates shut in.
JENKIN.
Thus, by little and little, I creep into office. Come, to kennel, my masters, to kennel; ’tis eleven o’clock, already.
SERVING-MAN.
When you have locked the gates in, you must send up the keys to my mistress.
CICELY.
Quickly, for God’s sake, Jenkin, for I must carry them. I am neither pillow nor bolster, but I know more than both.
JENKIN.
To bed, good Spigot; to bed, good honest serving-creatures; and let us sleep as snug as pigs in pease-straw.
[Exeunt.
SCENE V.—Outside FRANKFORD’S House.
ENTER FRANKFORD AND
NICHOLAS.
FRANKFORD.
Soft, soft; we have tied our geldings to a tree,
Two flight-shot[37] off, lest by their thundering hoofs
They blab our coming back. Hear’st thou no noise?
NICHOLAS.
Hear! I hear nothing but the owl and you.
FRANKFORD.
So; now my watch’s hand points upon twelve,
And it is dead midnight. Where are my keys?
NICHOLAS.
Here, sir.
FRANKFORD.
This is the key that opes my outward gate;
This is the hall-door; this the withdrawing chamber;
But this, that door that’s bawd unto my shame,
Fountain and spring of all my bleeding thoughts,
Where the most hallowed order and true knot
Of nuptial sanctity hath been profaned;
It leads to my polluted bed-chamber,
Once my terrestrial heaven, now my earth’s hell,
The place where sins in all their ripeness dwell.
But I forget myself: now to my gate.
NICHOLAS.
It must ope with far less noise than Cripple-gate, or your plot’s dashed.
FRANKFORD.
So, reach me my dark lanthorn to the rest;
Tread softly, softly.
NICHOLAS.
I will walk on eggs this pace.
FRANKFORD.
A general silence hath surprised the house,
And this is the last door. Astonishment,
Fear, and amazement play against my heart,
Even as a madman beats upon a drum.
Oh, keep my eyes, you Heavens, before I enter,
From any sight that may transfix my soul;
Or, if there be so black a spectacle,
Oh, strike mine eyes stark blind; or, if not so,
Lend me such patience to digest my grief
That I may keep this white and virgin hand
From any violent outrage or red murder!
And with that prayer I enter.
SCENE VI.—The Hall of FRANKFORD’S House.
NICHOLAS discovered.
NICHOLAS.
Here’s a circumstance.
A man be made cuckold in the time
That he’s about it. An the case were mine,
As ’tis my master’s,—’sblood that he makes me swear!—
I would have placed his action, entered there;
I would, I would.
ENTER
FRANKFORD.
FRANKFORD.
Oh! oh!
NICHOLAS.
Master, ’sblood! master! master!
FRANKFORD.
O me unhappy! I have found them lying
Close in each other’s arms, and fast asleep.
But that I would not damn two precious souls,
Bought with my Saviour’s blood, and send them, laden
With all their scarlet sins upon their backs,
Unto a fearful judgment, their two lives
Had met upon my rapier.
NICHOLAS.
’Sblood, master, what, have you left them sleeping still? let me go wake them.
FRANKFORD.
Stay, let me pause a while.
O God! O God! that it were possible
To undo things done; to call back yesterday!
That Time could turn up his swift sandy glass,
To untell the days, and to redeem these hours!
Or that the sun
Could, rising from the west, draw his coach backward,
Take from the account of time so many minutes,
Till he had all these seasons called again,
Those minutes, and those actions done in them,
Even from her first offence; that I might take her
As spotless as an angel in my arms!
But, oh! I talk of things impossible,
And cast beyond the moon.[38] God give me patience!
For I will in and wake them. [Exit.
NICHOLAS.
Here’s patience perforce;[39]
He needs must trot afoot that tires his horse.
Enter WENDOLL, running over the stage in a night-gown, FRANKFORD after him with a sword drawn; a Maid-servant in her smock stays his hand, and clasps hold on him. FRANKFORD pauses for a while.
FRANKFORD.
I thank thee, maid; thou, like the angel’s hand,
Hast stayed me from a bloody sacrifice.[40] [Exit Maid-servant.
Go, villain, and my wrongs sit on thy soul
As heavy as this grief doth upon mine!
When thou record’st my many courtesies,
And shalt compare them with thy treacherous heart,
Lay them together, weigh them equally,
’Twill be revenge enough. Go, to thy friend
A Judas: pray, pray, lest I live to see
Thee, Judas-like, hanged on an elder-tree.
Enter Mistress FRANKFORD in her night attire.
MISTRESS
FRANKFORD.
Oh, by what word, what title, or what name,
Shall I entreat your pardon? Pardon! oh!
I am as far from hoping such sweet grace
As Lucifer from heaven. To call you husband—
O me, most wretched! I have lost that name,
I am no more your wife.
NICHOLAS.
’Sblood, sir, she swoons.
FRANKFORD.
Spare thou thy tears, for I will weep for thee:
And keep thy countenance, for I’ll blush for thee.
Now, I protest, I think ’tis I am tainted,
For I am most ashamed; and ’tis more hard
For me to look upon thy guilty face,
Than on the sun’s clear brow. What wouldst thou speak?
MISTRESS
FRANKFORD.
I would I had no tongue, no ears, no eyes,
No apprehension, no capacity.
When do you spurn me like a dog? when tread me
Under your feet? when drag me by the hair?
Though I deserve a thousand thousand fold
More than you can inflict: yet, once my husband,
For womanhood, to which I am a shame,
Though once an ornament—even for His sake
That hath redeemed our souls, mark not my face,
Nor hack me with your sword; but let me go
Perfect and undeformèd to my tomb.
I am not worthy that I should prevail
In the least suit; no, not to speak to you,
Nor look on you, nor to be in your presence.
Yet, as an abject, this one suit I crave;
This granted, I am ready for my grave. [Kneels.
FRANKFORD.
My God, with patience arm me! Rise, nay, rise,
And I’ll debate with thee. Was it for want
Thou playedst the strumpet? Wast thou not supplied
With every pleasure, fashion, and new toy,
Nay, even beyond my calling?
MISTRESS
FRANKFORD.
I was.
FRANKFORD.
Was it then disability in me;
Or in thine eye seemed he a properer man?
MISTRESS
FRANKFORD.
Oh, no.
FRANKFORD.
Did not I lodge thee in my bosom?
Wear thee here in my heart?
MISTRESS
FRANKFORD.
You did.
FRANKFORD.
I did, indeed; witness my tears I did.
Go, bring my infants hither.
[Enter Servant with two Children.]
O Nan! O Nan!
If neither fear of shame, regard of honour,
The blemish of my house, nor my dear love
Could have withheld thee from so lewd a fact,
Yet for these infants, these young harmless souls,
On whose white brows thy shame is charactered,
And grows in greatness as they wax in years,—
Look but on them, and melt away in tears.
Away with them! lest, as her spotted body
Hath stained their names with stripe of bastardy,
So her adulterous breath may blast their spirits
With her infectious thoughts. Away with them!
[Exeunt Servant and Children.
MISTRESS
FRANKFORD.
In this one life I die ten thousand deaths.
FRANKFORD.
Stand up, stand up; I will do nothing rashly;
I will retire a while into my study,
And thou shalt hear thy sentence presently. [Exit.
MISTRESS
FRANKFORD.
’Tis welcome, be it death. O me, base strumpet,
That, having such a husband, such sweet children,
Must enjoy neither! Oh, to redeem my honour,
I would have this hand cut off, these my breasts seared,
Be racked, strappadoed, put to any torment:
Nay, to whip but this scandal out, I would hazard
The rich and dear redemption of my soul.
He cannot be so base as to forgive me;
Nor I so shameless to accept his pardon.
O women, women, you that yet have kept
Your holy matrimonial vow unstained,
Make me your instance: when you tread awry,
Your sins, like mine, will on your conscience lie.
Enter CICELY, JENKIN, and all the serving-men as newly come out of bed.
ALL.
O mistress, mistress, what have you done, mistress?
NICHOLAS.
’Sblood, what a caterwauling keep you here!
JENKIN.
O Lord, mistress, how comes this to pass? My master is run away in his shirt, and never so much as called me to bring his clothes after him.
MISTRESS
FRANKFORD.
See what guilt is! here stand I in this place,
Ashamed to look my servants in the face.
Enter FRANKFORD and CRANWELL, whom seeing she falls on her knees.
FRANKFORD.
My words are registered in Heaven already,
With patience hear me. I’ll not martyr thee,
Nor mark thee for a strumpet; but with usage
Of more humility torment thy soul,
And kill thee even with kindness.
CRANWELL.
Master Frankford——
FRANKFORD.
Good Master Cranwell. Woman, hear thy judgment.
Go make thee ready in thy best attire;
Take with thee all thy gowns, all thy apparel;
Leave nothing that did ever call thee mistress,
Or by whose sight, being left here in the house,
I may remember such a woman by.
Choose thee a bed and hangings for thy chamber;
Take with thee every thing that, hath thy mark,
And get thee to my manor seven mile off,
Where live; ’tis thine; I freely give it thee.
My tenants by shall furnish thee with wains
To carry all thy stuff, within two hours,—
No longer will I limit thee my sight.
Choose which of all my servants thou likest best,
And they are thine to attend thee.
MISTRESS
FRANKFORD.
A mild sentence.
FRANKFORD.
But, as thou hopest for Heaven, as thou believest
Thy name’s recorded in the book of life,
I charge thee never, after this sad day,
To see me, or to meet me, or to send
By word or writing, gift, or otherwise,
To move me, by thyself, or by thy friends;
Nor challenge any part in my two children.
So, farewell, Nan! for we will henceforth be
As we had never seen, ne’er more shall see.
MISTRESS
FRANKFORD.
How full my heart is, in mine eyes appears;
What wants in words, I will supply in tears.
FRANKFORD.
Come, take your coach, your stuff; all must along;
Servants and all, make ready; all be gone.
It was thy hand cut two hearts out of one.
[Exeunt.