Your metamorphos'd foe receives your gift

In satisfaction of all former wrongs. This jewel I will wear here in my heart; And where before I thought her, for her wants,

Too base to be my bride, to end all strife, I seal you my dear brother, her my wife. Susan. You still exceed us. I will yield to fate,

And learn to love, where I till now did hate.

Sir C. With that enchantment you have charm'd my soul

And made me rich even in those very words!

I pay no debt, but am indebted more; Rich in your love, I never can be poor. Sir F. All's mine is yours; we are alike in state;

Let's knit in love what was oppos'd in hate!

Come, for our nuptials we will straight provide,

Blest only in our brother and fair bride.

These frets have made me pleasant, that have now

Frets of my heart-strings made. O Master Cranwell!

Oft hath she made this melancholy wood, Now mute and dumb for her disastrous chance,

Speak sweetly many a note, sound many a strain

To her own ravishing voice; which being well strung,

What pleasant strange airs have they jointly sung!

Post with it after her!-Now nothing's left;

Of her and hers I am at once bereft. Nich. I'll ride and overtake her; do my message,

And come back again.

Cran.

Exit. Meantime, sir, if you please, I'll to Sir Francis Acton, and inform him

Of what hath past betwixt you and his sister.

Frank.

Do as you please.-How ill am I bested,

To be a widower ere my wife be dead! Exeunt.

SCENE 3. A country road.

Enter Mistress Frankford, with Jenkin, her maid Cicely, her Coachmen, and three Carters.

Mrs. F. Bid my coach stay! Why should I ride in state,

Being hurl'd so low down by the hand of fate?

A seat like to my fortunes let me have,Earth for my chair, and for my bed a

grave!

Jen. Comfort, good mistress; you have watered your coach with tears already. You have but two miles now to go to your manor. A man cannot say by my old master Frankford as he may say by me, that he wants manors; for he hath three or four, of which this is one that we are going to now.

Cic. Good mistress, be of good cheer! Sorrow, you see, hurts you, but helps you not; we all mourn to see you so sad. Carter. Mistress, I spy one of my landlord's men

Come riding post: 't is like he brings

some news.

6 variation.

Mrs. F. I know the lute. Oft have I sung to thee;

We both are out of tune, both out of time.

Nich. Would that had been the worst instrument that e'er you played on! My master commends him to ye; there's all he can find that was ever yours; he hath nothing left that ever you could lay claim to but his own heart, and he could afford you that! All that I have to deliver you is this: he prays you to forget him; and so he bids you farewell.

Mrs. F. I thank him; he is kind, and ever

was.

All you that have true feeling of my grief,

That know my loss, and have relenting hearts,

Gird me about, and help me with your tears

To wash my spotted sins! My lute shall

groan;

It cannot weep, but shall lament my

moan.

Enter Wendoll behind.

Wen. Pursu'd with horror of a guilty soul,

And with the sharp scourge of repentance lash'd,

I fly from mine own shadow. O my stars!

What have my parents in their lives deserv'd,

That you should lay this penance on their son?

When I but think of Master Frankford's love,

And lay it to my treason, or compare
My murdering him for his relieving

me,

It strikes a terror like a lightning's flash, To scorch my blood up. Thus I, like the owl, Asham'd of day, live in these shadowy woods,

Afraid of every leaf or murmuring blast, Yet longing to receive some perfect knowledge

How he hath dealt with her. (Seeing Mistress Frankford.) O my sad fate!

Here, and so far from home, and thus attended!

O God! I have divorc'd the truest turtles 7

That ever liv'd together, and, being divided,

In several places make their several

moan;

She in the fields laments, and he at home;

So poets write that Orpheus made the trees

And stones to dance to his melodious harp,

Meaning the rustic and the barbarous hinds,

That had no understanding part in them: So she from these rude carters tears extracts,

Making their flinty hearts with grief to rise,

And draw down rivers from their rocky eyes.

Mrs. F. (To Nicholas.) If you return unto my master, say

(Though not from me, for I am all unworthy

To blast his name so with a strumpet's

A woman made of tears; would you had words

To express but what you see! My inward grief

No tongue can utter; yet unto your power

You may describe my sorrow, and disclose

To thy sad master my abundant woes. Nich. I'll do your commendations.s Mrs. F.

Oh, no! I dare not so presume; nor to my children;

I am disclaim'd in both; alas! I am. Oh, never teach them, when they come to speak,

To name the name of mother: chide their tongue,

If they by chance light on that hated word;

Tell them 't is naught; for when that word they name,

Poor, pretty souls! they harp on their own shame.

(Aside.) To recompense wrongs, what canst thou do? Thou hast made her husbandless, and

childless too.

Wen.

Exit. (Aside.) I'll speak to her, and comfort her in grief.

Oh, but her wound cannot be cur'd with words!

No matter, though; I'll do my best good will

To work a cure on her whom I did kill. Mrs. F. So, now unto my coach, then to my home,

So to my death-bed; for from this sad hour,

I never will nor eat, nor drink, nor taste

Of any cates that may preserve my life.

I never will nor smile, nor sleep, nor rest;

But when my tears have wash'd my black soul white,

Sweet Savior, to thy hands I yield my sprite.

Wen. (Coming forward.) O Mistress
Frankford!

Mrs. F.
Oh, for God's sake, fly!
The devil doth come to tempt me, ere I
die.

My coach! This sin, that with an angel's face

Conjur'd 10 mine honor, till he sought my wrack,

In my repentant eye seems ugly, black.

Exeunt all except Wendoll and Jenkin; the Carters whistling.

Jen. What, my young master, that fled in his shirt! How come you by your clothes again? You have made our house in a sweet pickle, ha' ye not, think you? What, shall I serve you still, or cleave to the old house?

Wen. Hence, slave! Away, with thy unseason'd mirth!

Unless thou canst shed tears, and sigh, and howl,

Curse thy sad fortunes, and exclaim on fate,

Thou art not for my turn.

Jen. Marry, an you will not, another will; farewell, and be hang'd! Would you had never come to have kept this coil 11 within our doors! We shall ha' you run away like a sprite again.

Wen.

Exit.

She's gone to death; I live to want and woe,

Her life, her sins, and all upon my head.

And I must now go wander, like a Cain, In foreign countries and remoted climes, Where the report of my ingratitude Cannot be heard. I'll over first to France,

And so to Germany and Italy;

Where, when I have recover'd, and by travel

Gotten those perfect tongues,12 and that these rumors

May in their height abate, I will return:

And I divine (however now dejected), My worth and parts being by some great man prais'd,

At my return I may in court be rais'd.

That did corrupt her; she was of herself Chaste and devoted well. Is this the house?

Cran. Yes, sir; I take it, here your sister lies.

Sir F. My brother Frankford show'd too mild a spirit

In the revenge of such a loathed crime. Less than he did, no man of spirit could do.

I am so far from blaming his revenge, That I commend it. Had it been my case,

Their souls at once had from their breasts been freed;

Death to such deeds of shame is the due meed.

Enter Jenkin and Cicely.

Jen. Oh, my mistress, my mistress! my poor mistress!

Cicely. Alas! that ever I was born; what shall I do for my poor mistress? Sir C. Why, what of her?

Jen. Oh, Lord, sir! she no sooner heard that her brother and her friends had come to see how she did, but she, for very shame of her guilty conscience, fell into such a swoon, that we had much ado to get life into her.

13 reconciled.

Susan. Alas, that she should bear so hard a fate!

Pity it is repentance comes too late. Sir F. Is she so weak in body? Jen. O sir, I can assure you there's no hope of life in her; for she will take no sust'nance: she hath plainly starv'd herself, and now she is as lean as a lath. She ever looks for the good hour. Many gentlemen and gentlewomen of the country are come to comfort her.

Exeunt.

SCENE 5. Mistress Frankford's Bedchamber.

Mistress Frankford in bed; enter Sir Charles Mountford, Sir Francis Acton, Malby, and Susan.

Mal. How fare you, Mistress Frankford? Mrs. F. Sick, sick, oh, sick! Give me some air, I pray you!

Tell me, oh, tell me, where is Master Frankford?

Will not he deign to see me ere I die? Mal. Yes, Mistress Frankford; divers gentlemen,

Your loving neighbors, with that just request

Have mov'd, and told him of your weak

estate:

Who, though with much ado to get belief,

Examining of the general circumstance, Seeing your sorrow and your penitence, And hearing therewithal the great desire

You have to see him, ere you left the world,

He gave to us his faith to follow us, And sure he will be here immediately. Mrs. F. You have half reviv'd me with the pleasing news,

Raise me a little higher in my bed. Blush I not, brother Acton? Blush I not, Sir Charles?

Can you not read my fault writ in my cheek?

Is not my crime there? Tell me, gentle

men.

Sir C. Alas, good mistress, sickness hath not left you

Blood in your face enough to make you blush.

14 exercises.

Sir F. Oh, Master Frankford, all the near alliance

I lose by her, shall be supplied in thee. You are my brother by the nearest way;

Her kindred hath fall'n off, but yours doth stay.

Frank. Even as I hope for pardon, at that day

When the Great Judge of Heaven in scarlet sits,

So be thou pardon'd! Though thy rash. offence

Divore'd our bodies, thy repentant tears Unite our souls.

Sir C. Then comfort, Mistress Frankford!

You see your husband hath forgiven your

fall;

Then rouse your spirits, and cheer your fainting soul!

Susan.

God par

Sir F. Mrs. F.

15 upbraid.

How is it with you?

How do you feel yourself? Not of this world.

Frank. I see you are not, and I weep to see it.

My wife, the mother to my pretty babes! Both those lost names I do restore thee

back,

And with this kiss I wed thee once again. Though thou art wounded in thy honor'd