And in great want.
FRANK. Did not more weighty business of mine own
Hold me away, I would have labored peace
Betwixt them with all care; indeed I would, sir.
ANNE. I’ll write unto my brother earnestly
In that behalf.
WEN. A charitable deed,
And will beget the good opinion
Of all your friends that love you, Mistress Frankford.
FRANK. That’s you, for one; I know you love Sir Charles—
[Aside] And my wife too, well.
WEN. He deserves the love
Of all true gentlemen; be yourselves judge!
FRANK. 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 Mr. Cranwell,
Do you the like!—Wife, I protest, my heart
Was ne’er more bent on sweet alacrity.81
Where be those lazy knaves to serve in supper?
Enter Nick
NICK. Here’s a letter, sir.
FRANK. Whence comes it, and who brought it?
NICK. A stripling that below attends your answer,
And, as he tells me, it is sent from York.
FRANK. Have him into the cellar, let him taste
A cup of our March beer; go, make him drink!
NICK. I’ll make him drunk, if he be a Trojan.
FRANK. [After reading the letter] 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?
Enter Jenkin, with boots and spurs
ANNE. I hope your business craves no such despatch,
That you must ride to-night?
WEN. [Aside] I hope it doth.
FRANK. God’s me! No such despatch?
Jenkin, my boots! Where’s Nick? Saddle my roan,
And the grey dapple for himself!—Content me,
It much concerns me.—Gentle Master Cranwell,
And Master Wendoll, in my absence use
The very ripest pleasures of my house!
WEN. Lord! Master Frankford, will you ride to-night?
The ways are dangerous.
FRANK. Therefore will I ride
Appointed82 well; and so shall Nick, my man.
ANNE. I’ll call you up by five o’clock to-morrow.
FRANK. 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.
ANNE. Then, if you needs will go
This dangerous evening, Master Wendoll,
Let me entreat you bear him company.
WEN. With all my heart, sweet mistress.—My boots, there!
FRANK. Fie, fie, that for my private business
I should disease83 my friend, and be a trouble
To the whole house!—Nick!
NICK. Anon, sir!
Exit
FRANK. Bring forth my gelding!—As you love me, sir,
Use no more words: a hand, good Master Cranwell!
CRAN. Sir, God be your speed!
FRANK. Good night, sweet Nan; nay, nay, a kiss, and part!
[Aside] Dissembling lips, you suit not with my heart.
Exeunt Frankford and Nicholas
WEN. [Aside] 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.
ANNE. [Aside] O, sir! you are too public in your love,
And Master Frankford’s wife—
CRAN. Might I crave favor,
I would entreat you I might see my chamber.
I am on the sudden grown exceeding ill,
And would be spared from supper.
WEN. Light there, ho!—
See you want nothing, sir, for if you do,
You injure that good man, and wrong me too.
CRAN. I will make bold; good night!
Exit
WEN. How all conspire
To make our bosom84 sweet, and full entire!
Come, Nan, I pr’ythee, let us sup within!
ANNE. O! 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 heart from offence are free,
Despite report, base scandals do outface,
And stand at mere defiance with disgrace.
WEN. Fie, fie! You talk too like a puritan.
ANNE. You have tempted me to mischief, M[aster] 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.
WEN. My jocund soul is joyful above measure;
I’ll be profuse in Frankford’s richest treasure.
Exeunt
SCENE III
Enter Cicely, Jenkin, and Butler
JEN. 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 think’st of this?
CIC. Mum; there’s an old proverb,—when the cat’s away, the mouse may play.
JEN. Now you talk of a cat, Cicely, I smell a rat.
CIC. Good words, Jenkin, lest you be called to answer them!
JEN. 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.
CIC. Amen; I pray God, I say.
Enter Serving-man
SERVING-MAN. My mistress sends that you should make less noise, 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.
JEN. 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.
CIC. Quickly, for God’s sake, Jenkin; for I must carry them. I am neither pillow nor bolster, but I know more than both.
JEN. To bed, good Spigot; to bed, good honest serving-creatures; and let us sleep as snug as pigs in pease-straw!
Exeunt
SCENE IV
Enter Frankford and Nicholas
FRANK. Soft, soft! We’ve tied our geldings to a tree,
Two flight-shot85 off, lest by their thundering hoofs
They blab our coming. Hear’st thou no noise?
NICK. I hear nothing but the owl and you.
FRANK. SO; now my watch’s hand points upon twelve,
And it is just midnight. Where are my keys?
NICK. Here, sir.
FRANK. This is the key that opes my outward gate;
This, 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 th
e 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!
NICK. I must ope with far less noise than Cripplegate, or your plot’s dashed.
FRANK. So; reach me my dark lantern to the rest!
Tread softly, softly!
NICK. I will walk on eggs this pace.
FRANK. A general silence hath surprised the house,
And this is the last door. Astonishment,
Fear, and amazement, beat upon my heart,
Even as a madman beats upon a drum.
O, keep my eyes, you heavens, before I enter,
From any sight that may transfix my soul;
Or, if there be so black a spectacle,
O, 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.
Exeunt
SCENE V
Enter Nicholas
NICK. Here’s a circumstance!
A man may be made a 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,86 entered there;
I would, I would!
Enter Frankford
FRANK. O! O!
NICK. Master! ’Sblood! Master, master!
FRANK. 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.
NICK. Master, what, have ye left them sleeping still?
Let me go wake ’em!
FRANK. Stay, let me pause awhile!—
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 th’ account of time so many minutes,
Till he had all these seasons called87 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, O! I talk of things impossible,
And cast beyond the moon. God give me patience;
For I will in, and wake them.
Exit
NICK. Here’s patience perforce!
He needs must trot afoot that tires his horse.
Enter Wendoll, running over the stage in a nightgown, [Frankford] after him with a sword drawn; the maid in her smock stays his hand, and clasps hold on him. He pauses for awhile
FRANK. I thank thee, maid; thou, like an angel’s hand,
Hast stayed me from a bloody sacrifice.88
Exit Maid
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, hang’d on an elder-tree!
Enter Mistress Frankford in her smock, nightgown, and night-attire
ANNE. O, by what word, what title, or what name,
Shall I entreat your pardon? Pardon! O!
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.
NICK. ’Sblood, sir, she swoons.
FRANK. 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! Would’st thou speak?
ANNE. 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 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.
FRANK. My God, with patience arm me!—Rise, nay, rise.
And I’ll debate with thee. Was it for want
Thou play’dst the strumpet? Wast thou not supplied
With every pleasure, fashion, and new toy,—
Nay, even beyond my calling?
ANNE. I was.
FRANK. Was it, then, disability in me;
Or in thine eye seemed he a properer man?
ANNE. O, no!
FRANK. Did not I lodge thee in my bosom?
Wear thee here in my heart?
ANNE. You did.
FRANK. I did, indeed; witness my tears, I did.—
Go, bring my infants hither!
Enter Serving-woman with two little children
O Nan! O Nan!
If neither fear of shame, regard of honor,
The blemish of my house, nor my dear love,
Could have withheld thee from so lewd a fact:89
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!
Exit Serving-woman with children
ANNE. In this one life, I die ten thousand deaths.
FRANK. Stand up, stand up! I will do nothing rashly.
I will retire awhile into my study,
And thou shalt hear thy sentence presently.
Exit
ANNE. ’Tis welcome, be it death. O me, base strumpet,
That, having such a husband, such sweet children,
Must enjoy neither! O, to redeem mine honor,
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, lik
e mine, will on your conscience lie.
Enter Cicely, Spigot, all the Serving-men, and Jenkin, as newly come out of bed
ALL. O, mistress, mistress! What have you done, mistress?
NICK. What a caterwauling keep you here!
JEN. 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.
ANNE. 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
FRANK. 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.
CRAN. Master Frankford—
FRANK. 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 which 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 limit90 thee my sight.
Choose which of all my servants thou lik’st best,
And they are thine to attend thee.
ANNE. A mild sentence.
FRANK. But, as thou hop’st for heaven, as thou believ’st
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.
ANNE. How full my heart is, in mine eyes appears;
What wants in words, I will supply in tears.
FRANK. Come, take your coach, your stuff; all must along.
Servants and all make ready; all begone!
It was thy hand cut two hearts out of one.
Exeunt
ACT V, SCENE I
Enter Sir Charles [Mountford,] gentleman-like and his Sister, gentlewoman-like
SUSAN. Brother, why have you tricked me like a bride,
The Duchess of Malfi Page 8