WEN. I have tried39 it.
ANNE. His purse is your exchequer, and his table
Doth freely serve you.
WEN. So I have found it.
ANNE. O! 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?
It is my husband that maintains your state;
Will you dishonor him? I am his wife,
That in your power hath left his whole affairs.
It is to me you speak.
WEN. O speak no more;
For more than this I know, and have recorded
Within the red-leaved table40 of my heart.
Fair, and of all beloved, 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;
’Twas for your sake. Perchance, in rage he’ll kill me;
I care not, ’twas 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 reproach,
For you I’ll hazard all. Why, what care I?
For you I’ll love, and in your love I’ll die.
ANNE. 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,
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 of him.
I will be secret, lady, close as night;
And not the light of one small glorious star
Shall shine here in my forehead, to bewray
That act of night.
ANNE. What shall I say?
My soul is wandering, and hath lost her way.
O, Master Wendoll! O!
WEN. Sigh not, sweet saint;
For every sigh you breathe draws from my heart
A drop of blood.
ANNE. 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.
I blush, and am ashamed. O, Master Wendoll,
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,
Which on your lips I knock at with a kiss!
NICK. 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
NICK. Zounds! I’ll stab.
Ay, Nick, was it thy chance to come just in the nick?
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?41
Does not that rascal Wendoll go on legs
That thou must cut off? Hath he not ham-strings
That thou must hough?42 Nay, mettle, thou shalt stand
To all I say. I’ll henceforth turn a spy,
And watch them in their close conveyances.43
I never looked for better of that rascal,
Since he came miching44 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,
Wendoll’s a knave, my mistress is a—
Exit
ACT III, SCENE I
Enter [Sir] Charles and Susan
SIR C. Sister, you see we are driven to hard shift,
To keep this poor house we have left unsold.
I am now enforced to follow husbandry,
And you to milk; and do we not live well?
Well, I thank God.
SUSAN. O, brother! here’s a change,
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. O, pardon me; this house successively
Hath longed to me and my progenitors
Three hundred years. My great-great-grandfather,
He in whom first our gentle style45 began,
Dwelt here, and in this ground increased this mole-hill
Unto that mountain which my father left me.
Where he the first of all our house began,
I now the last will end, and keep this house,
This virgin title, never yet deflowered
By any unthrift of the Mountfords’ line.
In brief, I will not sell it for more gold
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?46
I have brought it to execution
By course of law. What! Is my monies ready?
SIR C. An execution, sir, and never tell me
You put my bond in suit? You deal extremely.
SHAFT. Sell me the land, and I’ll acquit you straight.
SIR C. Alas, alas! ’Tis all trouble hath left me,
To cherish me and my poor sister’s life.
If this were sold, our names should then be quite
Razed from the bead-roll47 of gentility.
You see what hard shift we have made to keep it
Allied still to our own name. This palm you see,
Labor hath glowed within; her silver brow,
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 labor hard;
We lie uneasy, to reserve to us
And our succession this small spot of ground.
SIR C. I have so bent my thoughts to husbandry,
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
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 desired. What should I say?
To keep this place, I have changed myself away.
SHAFT. [To the Sergeant] Arrest him at my suit!—Actions and actions
Shall keep thee in continual bondage fast;
Nay, more, I’ll sue thee by a late appeal,
And call thy former life in question.
The keeper is my friend; thou shalt have irons,
And usage such as I’ll deny to dogs.—
Away with him!
SIR C. Ye are too timorous.
But trouble is my master,
And I will serve him truly.—My kind sister,
Thy tears are of no use to mollify
My kinsmen, and allies; entreat them for me,
To ransom me from this injurious man
That seeks my ruin.
SHAFT. Come, irons, irons! Come, away;
I’ll see thee lodged far from the sight of day.
Exeunt [except Susan]
SUSAN. My heart’s so hardened with the frost of grief,
Death cannot pierce it through.—Tyrant too fell!
So lead the fiends condemnèd souls to hell.
Enter [Sir Francis] Acton and Malby
SIR F. Again to prison! Malby, hast thou seen
A poor slave better tortured? Shall we hear
The music of his voice cry from the grate,48
Meat, for the Lord’s sake? No, no; yet I am not
Throughly revenged. They say, he hath a pretty wench
To his sister; shall I, in mercy-sake
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 revenged
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 hate.
But stay, my heart! O, what a look did fly
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!
MAL. Sir Francis! Why, Sir Francis! 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.
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
Each against other! How now, Frank, turned fool
Or madman, whether? But no! Master of
My perfect senses and directest wits.
Then why should I be in this violent humor
Of passion and of love? And with a person
So different every way, and so opposed
In all contractions49 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
SCENE II
Enter three or four Serving-men, one with a voider50 and a wooden knife, to take away; another [with] the salt and bread; another [with] the table-cloth and napkins; another [with] the carpet;51 Jenkin with two lights after them
JEN. So; march in order, and retire in battle array! My master and the guests have supped already; all’s taken away. Here, now spread for the serving-men in the hall!—Butler, it belongs to your office.
BUT. I know it, Jenkin. What d’ye call the gentleman that supped there to-night?
JEN. Who? My master?
BUT. No, no; Master Wendoll, he’s a daily guest. I mean the gentleman that came but this afternoon.
JEN. His name’s Master Cranwell. God’s light! Hark, within there; my master calls to lay more billets52 upon the fire. Come, come! Lord, how we that are in office53 here in the house are troubled! One spread the carpet in the parlor, and stand ready to snuff the lights; the rest be ready to prepare their stomachs!54 More lights in the hall, there! Come, Nicholas.
Exeunt [all but Nicholas]
NICK. I cannot eat; but had I Wendoll’s heart, I would eat that. The rogue grows impudent. O! I have seen such vild,55 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.
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?
NICK. Master, I stayed your rising from the board,
To speak with you.
FRANK. Be brief then, gentle Nicholas;
My wife and guests attend me in the parlor.
Why dost thou pause? Now, Nicholas, you want money,
And, unthrift-like, would eat into your wages
Ere you had earned it. Here, sir, ’s half-a-crown;
Play the good husband,56—and away to supper!
NICK. By this hand, an honorable gentleman! I will not see him wronged.
Sir, I have served you long; you entertained me
Seven years before your beard; you knew me, sir,
Before you knew my mistress.
FRANK. What of this, good Nicholas?
NICK. I never was a make-bate57 or a knave;
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?
NICK. ’Sblood! sir, I love you better than your wife.
I’ll make it good.
FRANK. Y’ are a knave, and I have much ado
With wonted patience to contain my rage,
And not to break thy pate. Th’ art a knave.
I’ll turn you, with your base comparisons,
Out of my doors.
NICK. 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?
NICK. 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, that base slave
Enjoys my mistress, and dishonors you.
FRANK. Thou hast killed me with a weapon, whose sharp point
Hath pricked quite through and through my shivering heart.
Drops of cold sweat sit dangling on my hairs,
Like morning’s dew upon the golden flowers,
And I am plunged into strange agonies.
What did’st thou say? If any word that touched
His credit, or her reputation,
It is as hard to enter my belief,
As Dives58 into heaven.
NICK. I can gain nothing:
They are two that never wronged me. I knew before
’Twas but a thankless office, and perhaps
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.
FRANK. [Aside] ’Tis 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.59
May this be true? O, may it? Can it be?
Is it by any wonder possible?
Man, woman, what thing mortal can we trust,
When friends and bosom wives prove so unjust?—
What instance hast thou of this strange report?
NICK. Eyes, master, eyes.
FRANK. Thy eyes may be deceived, 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.
NICK. Shall I discourse the same by circumstance?
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.
NICK. I am dumb; and, now that I have eased my stomach,60
I will go fill my stomach.
Exit
FRANK. Away! Begone!
She is well born, descendèd nobly;
Virtuous her education; her repute
Is in the general voice of all the country
Honest and fair; her carriage, her demeanor,
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,
And sold me for a sin! O God! O God!
Shall I put up these wrongs? No! Shall I trust
The bare report of this suspicious groom,
Before the double-gilt, the well-hatch[ed]61 ore
Of their two hearts? No, I will lose these thoughts;
Distraction I will banish from my brow,
And from my looks exile sad discontent.
Their wonted favors in my tongue shall flow;
Till I know all, I’ll nothing seem to know.—
Lights and a table there! Wife, M[aster] Wendoll,
And gentle Master Cranwell!
Enter Mistress Frankford, Master Wendoll, Master Cranwell, Nicholas, and Jenkin with cards, carpets,62 and other necessaries
FRANK. O! Master Cranwell, you are a stranger here,
And often baulk63 my house; faith y’ are a churl!—
Now we have supped, a table and to cards!
JEN. A pair64 of cards, Nicholas, and a carpet to cover the table! Where’s Cicely, with her counters and her box! Candles and candlesticks, there! Fie! We have such a household of serving-creatures! Unless it be Nick and I, there’s not one amongst them all that can say bo to a goose.—Well said, Nick!
[They spread a carpet; set down lights and cards]
ANNE. Come, Mr. Frankford, who shall take my part?
FRANK. Marry, that will I, sweet wife.
WEN. NO, by my faith, when you are together, I sit out.
It must be Mistress Frankford and I, or else it is no match.
FRANK. I do not like that match.
NICK. [Aside] You have no reason, marry, knowing all.
FRANK. ’Tis no great matter, neither.—Come, Master Cranwell, shall you and I take them up?
CRAN. At your pleasure, sir.
The Duchess of Malfi Page 6