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Arden of Faversham

La lamentable y auténtica tragedia de Arden de Faversham (Traducción) La lamentable et vraie tragédie de M. Arden de Faversham (Traducción)

<<Arden of Feversham.>> In: Craik, T. W. (ed.) <<Minor Elizabethan Tragedies.>> London: J. M. Dent & Sons, 1974, pp. 203-278.

Joan Oleza Simó (Investigador principal) Ortíz Ramírez, Ainhoa (Editor)

English · Verso · 641 versos

https://playcode.fly.dev/plays/EMOTHE0178_ArdenOfFaversham

Tiempo histórico: Siglo XVI
The play takes place in the sixteenth century dramatizing events from 1551.
Datación: 1587
desde 1587 y hasta 92

Bibliografía

Ediciones modernas

Barker, Simon and Hillary Hinds, ed. Arden of Faversham. Anonymous. London: Routledge, 2003. The Routledge Anthology of Renaissance Drama.
Craik, T. W., ed. Arden of Faversham. Anonymous. In: Craik, T. W., ed. Minor Elizabethan Tragedies. London, 1974. Text editor for EMOTHE Digital Library: Ortíz Ramírez, Ainhoa.Available at: https://emothe.uv.es/biblioteca/textosEMOTHE/EMOTHE0178_ArdenOfFaversham.php.
Findlay, Polly and Zoë Svendsen, ed. Arden of Faversham. Anonymous. London, 2014.
Kinney, Arthur, ed. Arden of Faversham. Anonymous. Oxford: Blackwell, 1999.
White, Martin, ed. Arden of Faversham. Anonymous. 2 ed. London: Bloomsbury, 2007. New Mermaids.

Bibliografía crítica

Bly, Mary. "Review of Arden of Faversham". Shakespeare Bulletin. 2004, 22.3, p. 84-86.
Bradbrook, M. C. Themes and Conventions in Elizabethan Tragedy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1969.
Doran, Madeleine. Endeavors of Art: A Study of Form in Elizabethan Drama. Univ. of Wisconsin, 1964.
Reynolds, George Fullmer. The Staging of Elizabethan Plays at the Red Bull Theater. 1966, p. 115-21.
Schutzman, Julie R. "Alice Arden's Freedom and the Suspended Moment of Arden of Faversham". Studies in English Literature, 1500-1900. 1996, 36.2, p. 289-314.
Sullivan, Garrett A., Jr. "“Arden Lay Murdered in that Plot of Ground”: Surveying, Land and Arden of Faversham". ELH. 1994, 61.2, p. 231-52.
Youngblood, Sarah. "Theme and Imagery in Arden of Feversham". Studies in English Literature. 1963, 3, p. 207-18.

Traducciones

Français

"Arden de Faversham". Ed. Cottegnies, Line; Laroque, François; Maguin, Jean-Marie. Théâtre élisabéthain. Vol. 1. Paris: Gallimard, 2009.

THOMAS ARDEN Gentleman, of Feversham.

FRANKLIN his Friend.

ALICE Arden’s Wife.

ADAM FOWLE Landlord of the Flower-de-Luce.

MOSBIE

CLARKE a Painter.

BRADSHAW a Goldsmith.

MICHAEL Arden’s Servant.

GREENE

RICHARD REEDE

A SAILOR

BLACK WILL Murderer.

SHAKEBAG Murderer.

A PRENTICE

A FERRYMAN

LORD CHEINY and his Men.

MAYOR OF FEVERSHAM and Watch.

SUSAN Mosbie’s Sister.

[SCENE I]

(Enter ARDEN and FRANKLIN.)

FRANKLIN.

Arden, cheer up thy spirits, and droop no more. 1

My gracious Lord, the Duke of Somerset, 2

Hath freely given to thee and to thy heirs, 3

By letters patents from his Majesty, 4

All the lands of the Abbey of Feversham. 5

Here are the deeds, 6

Seal'd and subscrib'd with his name and the king's: 7

Read them, and leave this melancholy mood. 8

ARDEN.

Franklin, thy love prolongs my weary life; 9

And but for thee how odious were this life, 10

That shows me nothing but torments my soul, 11

And those foul objects that offend mine eyes; 12

Which makes me wish that for this veil of heaven 13

The earth hung over my head and cover'd me. 14

Love-letters pass 'twixt Mosbie and my wife, 15

And they have privy meetings in the town: 16

Nay, on his finger did I spy the ring 17

Which at our marriage-day the priest put on. 18

Can any grief be half so great as this? 19

FRANKLIN.

Comfort thyself, sweet friend; it is not strange 20

That women will be false and wavering. 21

ARDEN.

Ay, but to dote on such a one as he 22

Is monstrous, Franklin, and intolerable. 23

FRANKLIN.

Why, what is he? 24

ARDEN.

A botcher, and no better at the first; 25

Who, by base brokage getting some small stock, 26

Crept into service of a nobleman, 27

And by his servile flattery and fawning 28

Is now become the steward of his house, 29

And bravely jets it in his silken gown. 30

FRANKLIN.

No nobleman will countenance such a peasant. 31

ARDEN.

Yes, the Lord Clifford, he that loves not me. 32

But through his favour let not him grow proud; 33

For were he by the Lord Protector back'd, 34

He should not make me to be pointed at. 35

I am by birth a gentleman of blood, 36

And that injurious ribald, that attempts 37

To violate my dear wife's chastity 38

(For dear I hold her love, as dear as heaven) 39

Shall on the bed which he thinks to defile 40

See his dissever'd joints and sinews torn, 41

Whilst on the planchers pants his weary body, 42

Smear'd in the channels of his lustful blood. 43

FRANKLIN.

Be patient, gentle friend, and learn of me 44

To ease thy grief and save her chastity: 45

Intreat her fair; sweet words are fittest engines 46

To raze the flint walls of a woman's breast. 47

In any case be not too jealious, 48

Nor make no question of her love to thee; 49

But, as securely, presently take horse, 50

And lie with me at London all this term; 51

For women, when they may, will not, 52

But, being kept back, straight grow outrageous. 53

ARDEN.

Though this abhors from reason, yet I'll try it, 54

And call her forth, and presently take leave. 55

How, Alice! 56

(Here enters ALICE.)

ALICE.

Husband, what mean you to get up so early? 57

Summer nights are short, and yet you rise ere day. 58

Had I been wake, you had not risen so soon. 59

ARDEN.

Sweet love, thou know'st that we two, Ovid-like, 60

Have chid the morning when it 'gan to peep, 61

And often wish'd that dark night's purblind steeds 62

Would pull her by the purple mantle back, 63

And cast her in the ocean to her love. 64

But this night, sweet Alice, thou hast kill'd my heart: 65

I heard thee call on Mosbie in thy sleep. 66

ALICE.

'Tis like I was asleep when I nam'd him, 67

For being awake he comes not in my thoughts. 68

ARDEN.

Ay, but you started up, and suddenly, 69

Instead of him, caught me about the neck. 70

ALICE.

Instead of him? why, who was there but you? 71

And where but one is, how can I mistake? 72

FRANKLIN.

Arden, leave to urge her over-far. 73

ARDEN.

Nay, love, there is no credit in a dream; 74

Let it suffice I know thou lovest me well. 75

ALICE.

Now I remember whereupon it came: 76

Had we no talk of Mosbie yesternight? 77

FRANKLIN.

Mistress Alice, I heard you name him once or twice. 78

ALICE.

And thereof came it, and therefore blame not me. 79

ARDEN.

I know it did, and therefore let it pass. 80

I must to London, sweet Alice, presently. 81

ALICE.

But tell me, do you mean to stay there long? 82

ARDEN.

No longer there till my affairs be done. 83

FRANKLIN.

He will not stay above a month at most. 84

ALICE.

A month? ay me! Sweet Arden, come again 85

Within a day or two, or else I die. 86

ARDEN.

I cannot long be from thee, gentle Alice. 87

Whilst Michael fetch our horses from the field, 88

Franklin and I will down unto the quay; 89

For I have certain goods there to unload. 90

Meanwhile prepare our breakfast, gentle Alice; 91

For yet ere noon we'll take horse and away. 92

(Exeunt Arden and Franklin.)

ALICE.

Ere noon he means to take horse and away! 93

Sweet news is this. O that some airy spirit 94

Would in the shape and likeness of a horse 95

Gallop with Arden 'cross the ocean, 96

And throw him from his back into the waves! 97

Sweet Mosbie is the man that hath my heart: 98

And he usurps it, having nought but this, 99

That I am tied to him by marriage. 100

Love is a god, and marriage is but words; 101

And therefore Mosbie's title is the best. 102

Tush! whether it be or no, he shall be mine, 103

In spite of him, of Hymen, and of rites. 104

(Here enters ADAM of the Flower-de-luce.)

And here comes Adam of the Flower-de-luce; 105

I hope he brings me tidings of my love. 106

-How now, Adam, what is the news with you? 107

Be not afraid; my husband is now from home. 108

ADAM.

He whom you wot of, Mosbie, Mistress Alice, 109

Is come to town, and sends you word by me 110

In any case you may not visit him. 111

ALICE.

Not visit him? 112

ADAM.

No, nor take no knowledge of his being here. 113

ALICE.

But tell me, is he angry or displeas'd? 114

ADAM.

Should seem so, for he is wondrous sad. 115

ALICE.

Were he as mad as raving Hercules, 116

I'll see him, I; and were thy house of force, 117

These hands of mine should raze it to the ground, 118

Unless that thou wouldst bring me to my love. 119

ADAM.

Nay, and you be so impatient, I'll be gone. 120

ALICE.

Stay, Adam, stay; thou wert wont to be my friend. 121

Ask Mosbie how I have incurr'd his wrath; 122

Bear him from me these pair of silver dice, 123

With which we play'd for kisses many a time, 124

And when I lost, I won, and so did he;¬—- 125

Such winning and such losing Jove send me! 126

And bid him, if his love do not decline, 127

Come this morning but along my door, 128

And as a stranger but salute me there: 129

This may he do without suspect or fear. 130

ADAM.

Exit Adam. I'll tell him what you say, and so farewell. 131

ALICE.

Do, and one day I'll make amends for all.—- 132

I know he loves me well, but dares not come, 133

Because my husband is so jealious, 134

And these my narrow-prying neighbours blab, 135

Hinder our meetings when we would confer. 136

But, if I live, that block shall be remov'd, 137

And, Mosbie, thou that comes to me by stealth, 138

Shalt neither fear the biting speech of men, 139

Nor Arden's looks; as surely shall he die 140

As I abhor him and love only thee. 141

(Here enters MICHAEL.)

How now, Michael, whither are you going? 142

MICHAEL:

To fetch my master's nag. 143

I hope you'll think on me. 144

ALICE.

Ay, but, Michael, see you keep your oath, 145

And be as secret as you are resolute. 146

MICHAEL.

I'll see he shall not live above a week. 147

ALICE.

On that condition, Michael, here is my hand: 148

None shall have Mosbie's sister but thyself. 149

MICHAEL.

I understand the painter here hard by 150

Hath made report that he and Sue is sure. 151

ALICE.

There's no such matter, Michael; believe it not. 152

MICHAEL.

But he hath sent a dagger sticking in a heart, 153

With a verse or two stolen from a painted cloth, 154

The which I hear the wench keeps in her chest. 155

Well, let her keep it! I shall find a fellow 156

That can both write and read and make rhyme too. 157

And if I do—-well, say no more: 158

I'll send from London such a taunting letter 159

As she shall eat the heart he sent with salt 160

And fling the dagger at the painter's head. 161

ALICE.

What needs all this? I say that Susan's thine. 162

MICHAEL.

Why, then I say that I will kill my master, 163

Or anything that you will have me do. 164

ALICE.

But, Michael, see you do it cunningly. 165

MICHAEL.

Why, say I should be took, I'll ne'er confess 166

That you know anything; and Susan, being a maid, 167

May beg me from the gallows of the shrieve. 168

ALICE.

Trust not to that, Michael. 169

MICHAEL.

You cannot tell me, I have seen it, I. 170

But, mistress, tell her, whether I live or die, 171

I'll make her more worth than twenty painters can; 172

For I will rid mine elder brother away, 173

And then the farm of Bolton is mine own. 174

Who would not venture upon house and land, 175

When he may have it for a right down blow? 176

(Here enters MOSBIE.)

ALICE.

Yonder comes Mosbie. Michael, get thee gone, 177

Exit Michael. And let not him nor any know thy drifts. 178

Mosbie, my love! 179

MOSBIE.

Away, I say, and talk not to me now. 180

ALICE.

A word or two, sweet heart, and then I Will. 181

'Tis yet but early days, thou needs not fear. 182

MOSBIE.

Where is your husband? 183

ALICE.

'Tis now high water, and he is at the quay. 184

MOSBIE.

There let him be; henceforward know me not. 185

ALICE.

Is this the end of all thy solemn oaths? 186

Is this the fruit thy reconcilement buds? 187

Have I for this given thee so many favours, 188

Incurr'd my husband's hate, and, out alas! 189

Made shipwreck of mine honour for thy sake? 190

And dost thou say “henceforward know me not”? 191

Remember, when I lock'd thee in my closet, 192

What were thy words and mine; did we not both 193

Decree to murder Arden in the night? 194

The heavens can witness, and the world can tell, 195

Before I saw that falsehood look of thine, 196

'Fore I was tangled with thy 'ticing speech, 197

Arden to me was dearer than my soul,—- 198

And shall be still: base peasant, get thee gone, 199

And boast not of thy conquest over me, 200

Gotten by witchcraft and mere sorcery! 201

For what hast thou to countenance my love, 202

Being descended of a noble house, 203

And match'd already with a gentleman 204

Whose servant thou may'st be!—-and so farewell. 205

MOSBIE.

Ungentle and unkind Alice, now I see 206

That which I ever fear'd, and find too true: 207

A woman's love is as the lightning-flame, 208

Which even in bursting forth consumes itself. 209

To try thy constancy have I been strange; 210

Would I had never tried, but liv'd in hope! 211

ALICE.

What need'st thou try me whom thou ne'er found false? 212

MOSBIE.

Yet pardon me, for love is jealious. 213

ALICE.

So lists the sailor to the mermaid's song, 214

So looks the traveller to the basilisk: 215

I am content for to be reconcil'd, 216

And that, I know, will be mine overthrow. 217

MOSBIE.

Thine overthrow? first let the world dissolve. 218

ALICE.

Nay, Mosbie, let ine still enjoy thy love, 219

And happen what will, I am resolute. 220

My saving husband hoards up bags of gold 221

To make our children rich, and now is he 222

Gone to unload the goods that shall be thine, 223

And he and Franklin will to London straight. 224

MOSBIE.

To London, Alice? If thou'lt be rul'd by me, 225

We'll make him sure enough for coming there. 226

ALICE.

Ah, would we could! 227

MOSBIE.

I happen'd on a painter yesternight, 228

The only cunning man of Christendom; 229

For he can temper poison with his oil, 230

That whoso looks upon the work he draws 231

Shall, with the beams that issue from his sight, 232

Suck venom to his breast and slay himself. 233

Sweet Alice, he shall draw thy counterfeit, 234

That Arden may by gazing on it perish. 235

ALICE.

Ay, but Mosbie, that is dangerous, 236

For thou, or I, or any other else, 237

Coming into the chamber where it hangs, may die. 238

MOSBIE.

Ay, but we'll have it cover’d with a cloth 239

And hung up in the study for himself. 240

ALICE.

It may not be, for when the picture's drawn, 241

Arden, I know, will come and show it me. 242

MOSBIE.

Fear not; we'll have that shall serve the turn. 243

This is the painter's house; I'll call him forth. 244

ALICE.

But, Mosbie, I'll have no such picture, I. 245

MOSBIE.

I pray thee leave it to my discretion. 246

How, Clarke! 247

(Here enters CLARKE.)

Oh, you are an honest man of your word! you serv'd me well. 248

CLARKE.

Why, sir, I'll do it for you at any time, 249

Provided, as you have given your word, 250

I may have Susan Mosbie to my wife. 251

For, as sharp-witted poets, whose Sweet verse 252

Make heavenly gods break off their nectar draughts 253

And lay their ears down to the lowly earth, 254

Use humble promise to their sacred Muse, 255

So we that are the poets‘ favourites 256

Must have a love; ay, Love is the painter's muse, 257

That makes him frame a speaking countenance, 258

A weeping eye that witnesses heart's grief. 259

Then tell me, Master Mosbie, shall I have her? 260

ALICE.

'Tis pity but he should; he'll use her well. 261

MOSBIE.

Clarke, here's my hand: my sister shall be thine. 262

CLARKE.

Then, brother, to requite this courtesy, 263

You shall command my life, my skill, and all. 264

ALICE.

Ah, that thou couldst be secret. 265

MOSBIE.

Fear him not; leave; I have talk'd sufficient. 266

CLARKE.

You know not me that ask such questions. 267

Let it suffice I know you love him well, 268

And fain would have your husband made away: 269

Wherein, trust me, you show a noble mind, 270

That rather than you'll live with him you hate, 271

You'll venture life, and die with him you love. 272

The like will I do for my Susan's sake. 273

ALICE.

Yet nothing could inforce me to the deed 274

But Mosbie's love. Might I without control 275

Enjoy thee still, then Arden should not die: 276

But seeing I cannot, therefore let him die. 277

MOSBIE.

Enough, sweet Alice; thy kind words makes me melt. 278

Your trick of poison'd pictures we dislike; 279

Some other poison would do better far. 280

ALICE.

Ay, such as might be put into his broth, 281

And yet in taste not to be found at all. 282

CLARKE.

I know your mind, and here I have it for you. 283

Put but a dram of this into his drink, 284

Or any kind of broth that he shall eat, 285

And he shall die within an hour after. 286

ALICE.

As I am a gentlewoman, Clarke, next day 287

Thou and Susan shall be marrièd. 288

MOSBIE.

And I'll make her dowty more than I'll talk of, Clarke. 289

CLARKE.

Yonder's your husband. Mosbie, I'll be gone. 290

(Here enters ARDEN and FRANKLIN.)

ALICE.

In good time see where my husband comes. 291

Exit Clarke. Master Mosbie, ask him the question yourself. 292

MOSBIE.

Master Arden, being at London yesternight, 293

The Abbey lands whereof you are now possess'd 294

Were offer'd me on some occasion 295

By Greene, one of Sir Antony Ager's men: 296

I pray you, sir, tell me, are not the lands yours? 297

Hath any other interest herein? 298

ARDEN.

Mosbie, that question we'll decide anon. 299

Alice, make ready my breakfast, I must hence. 300

(Exit Alice.)

As for the lands, Mosbie, they are mine 301

By letters patents from his Majesty. 302

But I must have a mandate for my wife; 303

They say you seek to rob me of her love: 304

Villain, what makes thou in her company? 305

She's no companion for so base a groom. 306

MOSBIE.

Arden, I thought not on her, I carne to thee; 307

But rather than I pocket up this wrong—-¬ 308

FRANKLIN.

What will you do, sir? 309

MOSBIE.

Revenge it on the proudest of you both. 310

(Then Arden draws forth Mosbie' s sword.)

ARDEN.

So, sirrah; you may not wear a sword, 311

The statute makes against artificers; 312

I warrant that I do. Now use your bodkin, 313

Your Spanish needle, and your pressing iron, 314

For this shall go with me; and mark my words, 315

You, goodman botcher, 'tis to you I speak: 316

The next time that I take thee near my house, 317

Instead of legs I'll make thee crawl on stumps. 318

MOSBIE.

Ah, Master Arden, you have injur'd me: 319

I do appeal to God and to the world. 320

FRANKLIN.

Why, canst thou deny thou wert a botcher once? 321

MOSBIE.

Measure me what I am, not what I was. 322

ARDEN.

Why, what art thou now but a velvet drudge, 323

A cheating steward, and base-minded peasant? 324

MOSBIE.

Arden, now thou hast belch'd and vomited 325

The rancorous venom of thy mis-swoll'n heart, 326

Hear me but speak: as I intend to live 327

With God and his elected saints in heaven, 328

I never meant more to solicit her; 329

And that she knows, and all the world shall see. 330

I lov'd her once;—-sweet Arden, pardon me, 331

I could not choose, her beauty fir'd my heart! 332

But time hath quench'd these over-raging coals; 333

And, Arden, though I now frequent thy house, 334

'Tis for my sister's sake, her waiting-maid, 335

And not for hers. Mayest thou enjoy her long: 336

Hell-fire and wrathful vengeance light on me, 337

If I dishonour her or injure thee. 338

ARDEN.

Mosbie, with these thy protestations 339

The deadly hatred of my heart's appeased, 340

And thou and I'll be friends, if this prove true. 341

As for the base terms I gave thee late, 342

Forget them, Mosbie: I had cause to speak, 343

When all the knights and gentlemen of Kent 344

Make common table-talk of her and thee. 345

MOSBIE.

Who lives that is not touch'd with slanderous tongues? 346

FRANKLIN.

Then, Mosbie, to eschew the speech of men, 347

Upon whose general bruit all honour hangs, 348

Forbear his house. 349

ARDEN.

Forbear it! nay, rather frequent it more: 350

The world shall see that I distrust her not. 351

To warn him on the sudden from my house 352

Were to confirm the rumour that is grown. 353

MOSBIE.

By my faith, sir, you say true, 354

And therefore will I sojourn here a while, 355

Until our enemies have talk'd their fill; 356

And then, I hope, they'll cease, and at last confess 357

How causeless they have injur'd her and me. 358

ARDEN.

And I will lie at London all this term 359

To let them see how light I weigh their words. 360

(Here enters ALICE.)

ALICE.

Husband, sit down; your breakfast will be cold. 361

ARDEN.

Come, Master Mosbie, will you sit with us? 362

MOSBIE.

I cannot eat, but I'll sit for company. 363

ARDEN.

Sirrah Michael, see our horse be ready. 364

ALICE.

Husband, why pause ye? why eat you not? 365

ARDEN.

I am not well; there's something in this broth 366

That is not wholesome: didst thou make it, Alice? 367

ALICE.

I did, and that's the cause it likes not you. 368

(Then she throws down the broth on the ground.)

There's nothing that I do can please your taste; 369

You were best to say I would have poison'd you. 370

I cannot speak or cast aside my eye, 371

But he imagines I have stepp'd awry. 372

Here's he that you cast in my teeth so oft: 373

Now will I be convinc'd or purge myself. 374

I charge thee speak to this mistrustful man, 375

Thou that wouldst see me hang, thou, Mosbie, thou: 376

What favour hast thou had more than a kiss 377

At coming or departing from the town? 378

MOSBIE.

You wrong yourself and me to cast these doubts: 379

Your loving husband is not jealious. 380

ARDEN.

Why, gentle Mistress Alice, 381

Cannot I be ill but you'll accuse yourself? 382

Franklin, thou hast a box of mithridate; 383

I'll take a little to prevent the worst. 384

FRANKLIN.

Do so, and let us presently take horse; 385

My life for yours, ye shall do well enough. 386

ALICE.

Give me a spoon, I'll eat of it myself. 387

Would it were full of poison to the brim! 388

Then should my cares and troubles have an end. 389

Was ever silly woman so tormented? 390

ARDEN.

Be patient, sweet love; I mistrust not thee. 391

ALICE.

God will revenge it, Arden, if thou dost; 392

For never woman lov'd her husband better 393

Than I do thee. 394

ARDEN.

I know it, sweet Alice; cease to complain, 395

Lest that in tears I answer thee again. 396

FRANKLIN.

Come, leave this dallying, and let us away. 397

ALICE.

Forbear to wound me with that bitter word; 398

Arden shall go to London in my arms. 399

ARDEN.

Loth am I to depart, yet I must go. 400

ALICE.

Wilt thou to London, then, and leave me here? 401

Ah, if thou love me, gentle Arden, stay. 402

Yet, if thy business be of great import, 403

Go, if thou wilt, I'll bear it as I may; 404

But write from London to me every week, 405

Nay, every day, and stay no longer there 406

Than thou must needs, lest that I die for sorrow. 407

ARDEN.

I'll write unto thee every other tide, 408

And so farewell, sweet Alice, till we meet next. 409

ALICE.

Farewell, husband, seeing you'll have it so; 410

And, Master Franklin, seeing you take him hence, 411

In hope you'll hasten him home, I'll give you this. 412

(And then she kisseth him.)

FRANKLIN.

And if he stay, the fault shall not be mine. 413

Mosbie, farewell, and see you keep your oath. 414

MOSBIE.

I hope he is not jealous of me now. 415

ARDEN.

No, Mosbie, no; hereafter think of me 416

As of your dearest friend, and so farewell. 417

(Exeunt Arden, Franklin, and Michael.)

ALICE.

I am glad he is gone; he was about to stay, 418

But did you mark me then how I brake off? 419

MOSBIE.

Ay, Alice, and it was cunningly perform'd. 420

But what a villain is this painter Clarke! 421

ALICE.

Was it not a goodly poison that he gave? 422

Why, he's as well now as he was before. 423

It should have been some fine confection 424

That might have given the broth some dainty taste: 425

This powder was too gross and populous. 426

MOSBIE.

But had he eaten but three spoonfuls more, 427

Then had he died, and our love continu'd. 428

ALICE.

Why, so it shall, Mosbie, albeit he live. 429

MOSBIE.

It is unpossible, for I have sworn 430

Never hereafter to solicit thee, 431

Or, whilst he lives, once more importune thee. 432

ALICE.

Thou shalt not need, I will importune thee. 433

What, shall an oath make thee forsake my love? 434

As if I have not sworn as much myself 435

And given my hand unto him in the church! 436

Tush, Mosbie, oaths are words, and words is wind, 437

And wind is mutable: then, I conclude, 438

'Tis childishness to stand upon an oath. 439

MOSBIE.

Well provèd, Mistress Alice; yet by your leave 440

I'll keep mine unbroken whilst he lives. 441

ALICE.

Ay, do, and spare not, his time is but short; 442

For if thou beest as resolute as I, 443

We'l1 have him murder'd as he walks the streets. 444

In London many alehouse ruffians keep, 445

Which, as I hear, will murder men for gold. 446

They shall be soundly fee'd to pay him home. 447

(Here enters GREENE.)

MOSBIE.

Alice, whaes he that comes yonder? knowest thou him? 448

ALICE.

Mosbie, be gone: I hope 'tis one that comes 449

Exit Mosbie. To put in practice our intended drifts. 450

GREENE.

Mistress Arden, you are well met. 451

I am sorry that your husband is from home, 452

Whenas my purpos'd journey was to him; 453

Yet all my labour is not spent in vain, 454

For I suppose that you can full discourse 455

And flat resolve me of the thing I seek. 456

ALICE.

What is it, Master Greene? If that I may 457

Or can with safety, I will answer you. 458

GREENE.

I heard your husband hath the grant of late, 459

Confirm'd by letters patents from the king, 460

Of all the lands of the Abbey of Feversham, 461

Generally intitl'd, so that all former grants 462

Are cut off; whereof I myself had one; 463

But now my interest by that is void. 464

This is all, Mistress Arden; is it true or no? 465

ALICE.

True, Master Greene; the lands are his in state, 466

And whatsoever leases were before 467

Are void for term of Master Arden's life; 468

He hath the grant under the Chancery seal. 469

GREENE.

Pardon me, Mistress Arden, I must speak, 470

For I am touch'd. Your husband doth me wrong 471

To wring me from the little land I have. 472

My living is my life, only that [land] 473

Resteth remainder of my portion. 474

Desire of wealth is endless in his mind, 475

And he is greedy-gaping still for gain; 476

Nor cares he though young gentlemen do beg, 477

So he may scrape and hoard up in his pouch. 478

But, seeing he hath taken my lands, I'll value life 479

As careless as he is careful for to get: 480

And tell him this from me, I'll be reveng'd, 481

And so as he shall wish the Abbey lands 482

Had rested still within their former state. 483

ALICE.

Alas, poor gentleman, I pity you, 484

And woe is me that any man should want! 485

God knows 'tis not my fault; but wonder not 486

Though he be hard to others, when to me¬ 487

Ah, Master Greene, God knows how I am us'd. 488

GREENE.

Why, Mistress Arden, can the crabbèd churl 489

Use you unkindly? respects he not your birth, 490

Your honourable friends, nor what you brought? 491

Why, all Kent knows your parentage and what you are. 492

ALICE.

Ah, Master Greene, be it spoken in secret here, 493

I never live good day with him alone: 494

When he is at home, then have I froward looks, 495

Hard words and blows to mend the match withal; 496

And though I might content as good a man, 497

Yet doth he keep in every comer trulls; 498

And [being] weary with his trugs at home, 499

Then rides he straight to London; there, forsooth, 500

He revels it among such filthy ones 501

As counsels him to make away his wife. 502

Thus live I daily in continual fear, 503

In sorrow, so despairing of redress 504

As every day I wish with hearty prayer 505

That he or I were taken forth the world. 506

GREENE.

Now trust me, Mistress Alice, it grieveth me 507

So fair a creature should be so abus'd. 508

Why, who would have thought the civil sir so sullen? 509

He looks so smoothly. Now, fie upon him, churl! 510

And if he live a day, he lives too long. 511

But frolic, woman! I shall be the man 512

Shall set you free from all this discontent; 513

And if the churl deny my interest 514

And will not yield my lease into my hand, 515

I'll pay him home, whatever hap to me. 516

ALICE.

But speak you as you think? 517

GREENE.

Ay, God's my witness, I mean plain dealing, 518

For I had rather die than lose my land. 519

ALICE.

Then, Master Greene, be counsellèd by me: 520

Indanger not yourself for such a churl, 521

But hire some cutter for to cut him short, 522

And here's ten pound to wager them withal; 523

When he is dead, you shall have twenty more, 524

And the lands whereof my husband is possess'd 525

Shall be intitl'd as they were before. 526

GREENE.

Will you keep promise with me? 527

ALICE.

Or count me false and perjur'd whilst I live. 528

GREENE.

Then here's my hand, I'll have him so dispatch'd. 529

I'll up to London straight, I'll thither post, 530

And never rest till I have compass'd it. 531

Till then farewell. 532

ALICE.

Good fortune follow all your forward thoughts. 533

And whosoever doth attempt the deed, 534

Exit Greene. A happy hand I wish, and so farewell.—- 535

All this goes well: Mosbie, I long for thee 536

To let thee know all that I have contriv'd. 537

(Here enters MOSBIE and CLARKE.)

MOSBIE.

How, now, Alice, what's the news? 538

ALICE.

Such as will content thee well, sweetheart. 539

MOSBIE.

Well, let them pass a while, and tell me, Alice, 540

How have you dealt and temper'd with my sister? 541

What, will she have my neighbour Clarke, or no? 542

ALICE.

What, Master Mosbie, let him woo himself! 543

Think you that maids look not for fair words? 544

Go to her, Clarke; she's all alone within; 545

Michael my man is clean out of her books. 546

CLARKE.

I thank you, Mistress Arden, I will in; 547

And if fair Susan and I can make a gree, 548

You shall command me to the uttermost, 549

Exit Clarke. As far as either goods or life may stretch. 550

MOSBIE.

Now, Alice, let's hear thy news. 551

ALICE.

They be so good that I must laugh for joy, 552

Before I can begin to tell my tale. 553

MOSBIE.

Let's hear them, that I may laugh for company. 554

ALICE.

This morning, Master Greene, Dick Greene I mean, 555

From whom my husband had the Abbey land, 556

Came hither, railing, for to know the truth 557

Whether my husband had the lands by grant. 558

I told him all, whereat he storm'd amain 559

And swore he would cry quittance with the churl, 560

And, if he did deny his interest, 561

Stab him, whatsoever did befall himself. 562

Whenas I saw his choler thus to rise, 563

I whetted on the gentleman with words; 564

And, to conclude, Mosbie, at last we grew 565

To composition for my husband's death. 566

I gave him ten pound for to hire knaves, 567

By some device to make away the churl; 568

When he is dead, he should have twenty more 569

And repossess his former lands again. 570

On this we 'greed, and he is ridden straight 571

To London, [for] to bring his death about. 572

MOSBIE.

But call you this good news? 573

ALICE.

Ay, sweetheart, be they not? 574

MOSBIE.

'Twere cheerful news to hear the churl were dead; 575

But trust me, Alice, I take it passing ill 576

You would be so forgetful of our state 577

To make recount of it to every groom. 578

What! to acquaint each stranger with our drifts, 579

Chiefly in case of murder, why, 'tis the way 580

To make it open unto Arden's self 581

And bring thyself and me to ruin both. 582

Forewarn'd, forearm'd; who threats his enemy, 583

Lends him a sword to guard himself withal. 584

ALICE.

I did it for the best. 585

MOSBIE.

Well, seeing 'tis done, cheerly let it pass. 586

You know this Greene; is he not religious? 587

A man, I guess, of great devotion? 588

ALICE.

He is. 589

MOSBIE.

Then, sweet Alice, let it pass: I have a drift 590

Will quiet all, whatever is amiss. 591

(Here enters CLARKE and SUSAN,)

ALICE.

How now, Clarke? have you found me false? 592

Did I not plead the matter hard for you? 593

CLARKE.

You did. 594

MOSBIE.

And what? will't be a match? 595

CLARKE.

A match? Ay, faith, sir: ay, the day is mine. 596

The painter lays his colours to the life, 597

His pencil draws no shadows in his love. 598

Susan is mine. 599

ALICE.

You make her blush. 600

MOSBIE.

What, sister, is it Clarke must be the man? 601

SUSAN.

It resteth in your grant; some words are pass'd, 602

And haply we be grown unto a match, 603

If you be willing that it shall be so. 604

MOSBIE.

Ah, Master Clarke, it resteth at my grant: 605

You see my sister's yet at my dispose, 606

But, so you'll grant me one thing I shall ask, 607

I am content my sister shall be yours. 608

CLARKE.

What is it, Master Mosbie? 609

MOSBIE.

I do remember once in secret talk 610

You told me how you could compound by art 611

A crucifix impoison'd, 612

That whoso look upon it should wax blind 613

And with the scent be stifled, that ere long 614

He should die poison'd that did view it well. 615

I would have you make me such a crucifix, 616

And then I'll grant my sister shall be yours. 617

CLARKE.

Though I am loth, because it toucheth life, 618

Yet, rather or I'll leave sweet Susan's love, 619

I'll do it, and with all the haste I may. 620

But for whom is it? 621

ALICE.

Leave that to us. Why, Clarke, is it possible 622

That you should paint and draw it out yourself, 623

The colours being baleful and impoison'd, 624

And no ways prejudice yourself withal? 625

MOSBIE.

Well question'd, Alice; Clarke, how answer you that? 626

CLARKE.

Very easily: I'll tell you straight 627

How I do work of these impoison'd drugs. 628

I fasten on my spectacles so close 629

As nothing can any way offend my sight; 630

Then, as I put a leaf within my nose, 631

So put I rhubarb to avoid the smell, 632

And softly as another work I paint. 633

MOSBIE.

'Tis very well; but against when shall I have it? 634

CLARKE.

Within this ten days. 635

MOSBIE.

'Twill serve the turn. 636

Now, Alice, let's in and see what cheer you keep. 637

I hope, now Master Arden is from home, 638

You'll give me leave to play your husband's part. 639

ALICE.

Mosbie, you know, who's master of my heart, 640

He well may be the master of the house. 641

(Exeunt.)

[SCENE II]

(Enter GREENE and BRADSHAW.)

BRADSHAW.

See you them that comes yonder, Master Greene? 1

GREENE.

Ay, very well: do you know them? 2

(Here enters BLACK WILL and SHAKEBAG.)

BRADSHAW.

The one I know not, but he seems a knave 3

Chiefly for bearing the other company; 4

For such a slave, so vile a rogue as he, 5

Lives not again upon the earth. 6

Black Will is his name. I tell you, Master Greene, 7

At Boulogne he and I were fellow-soldiers, 8

Where he play'd such pranks 9

As all the camp fear'd him for his villainy. 10

I warrant you he bears so bad a mind 11

That for a crown he'll murder any man. 12

GREENE.

The fitter is he for my purpose, marry! 13

WILL.

How now, fellow Bradshaw? Whither away so early? 14

BRADSHAW.

O Will, times are chang'd: no fellows now, 15

Though we were once together in the field; 16

Yet thy friend to do thee any good I can. 17

WILL.

Why, Bradshaw, was not thou and I fellow-soldiers at Boulogne, where I was a corporal, and thou but a base mercenary groom? No fellows now! because you are a goldsmith and have a little plate in your shop! You were glad to call me "fellow Will," and with a curtsey to the earth," One snatch, good corporal," when I stole the half ox from John the victualler, and domineer'd with it amongst good fellows in one night.

BRADSHAW.

Ay, Will, those days are past with me. 19

WILL.

Ay, but they be not past with me, for I keep that same honourable mind still. Good neighbour Bradshaw, you are too proud to be my fellow; but were it not that I see more company coming down the hill, I would be fellows with you once more, and share crowns with you too. But let that pass, and tell me whither you go.

BRADSHAW.

To London, Will, about a piece of service, 21

Wherein haply thou may'st pleasure me. 22

WILL.

What is it? 23

BRADSHAW.

Of late Lord Cheiny lost some plate, 24

Which one did bring and sold it at my shop, 25

Saying he serv'd Sir Antony Cooke. 26

A search was made, the plate was found with me, 27

And I am bound to answer at the 'size. 28

Now, Lord Cheiny solemnly vows, 29

If law will serve him, he'll hang me for his plate. 30

Now I am going to London upon hope 31

To find the fellow. Now, Will, I know 32

Thou art acquainted With such companions. 33

WILL.

What manner of man was he? 34

BRADSHAW.

A lean-faced writhen knave, 35

Hawk-nos'd and very hollow-ey'd, 36

With mighty furrows in his stormy brows; 37

Long hair down his shoulders curl'd; 38

His chin was bare, but on his upper lip 39

A mutchado, which he wound about his ear. 40

WILL.

What apparel had he? 41

BRADSHAW.

A watchet satin doublet all to-torn, 42

The inner side did bear the greater show; 43

A pair of thread-bare velvet hose, seam-rent, 44

A worsted stocking rent above the shoe, 45

A livery cloak, but all the lace was off; 46

'Twas bad, but yet it serv'd to hide the plate. 47

WILL.

Sirrah Shakebag, canst thou remember since we trolled the bowl at Sittingburgh, where I broke the tapster's head of the Lion with a cudgel stick?

SHAKEBAG.

Ay, very well, Will. 49

WILL.

Why, it was with the money that the plate was sold for. Sirrah Bradshaw, what wilt thou give him that can tell thee who sold thy plate?

BRADSHAW.

Who, I pray thee, good Will? 51

WILL.

Why, 'twas one Jack Fitten. He's now in Newgate for stealing a horse, and shall be arraigned the next 'size. 52

BRADSHAW.

Why then, let Lord Cheiny seek Jack Fitten forth, 53

For I'll back and tell him who robb'd him of his plate. 54

This cheers my heart; Master Greene, I'll leave you, 55

For I must to the Isle of Sheppey with speed. 56

GREENE.

Before you go, let me intreat you 57

To carry this letter to Mistress Arden of Feversham 58

And humbly recommend me to herself. 59

BRADSHAW.

That will I, Master Greene, and so farewell. 60

Here, Will, there's a crown for thy good news. 61

(Exit Bradshaw.)

WILL.

Farewell, Bradshaw; I'll drink no water for thy sake whilst this lasts.—-Now, gentleman, shall we have your company to London?

GREENE, Nay, stay, sirs:

A little more I needs must use your help, 63

And in a matter of great consequence, 64

Wherein if you'll be secret and profound, 65

I'll give you twenty angels for your pains. 66

WILL.

How? twenty angels? give my fellow George Shakebag and me twenty angels? And if thou'lt have thy own father slain, that thou may'st inherit his land, we'll kill him.

SHAKEBAG.

Ay, thy mother, thy sister, thy brother, or all thy kin. 68

GREENE.

Well, this it is: Arden of Feversham 69

Hath highly wrong'd me about the Abbey land, 70

That no revenge but death will serve the turn. 71

Will you two kill him? here's the angels down, 72

And I will lay the platform of his death. 73

WILL.

Plat me no platforms; give me the money, and I'll stab him as he stands pissing against a wall, but I'll kill him.

SHAKEBAG.

Where is he? 75

GREENE.

He is now at London, in Aldersgate Street. 76

SHAKEBAG.

He's dead as if he had been condemned by an Act of Parliament, if once Black Will and I swear his death.

GREENE.

Here is ten pound, 78

And when he is dead, ye shall have twenty more. 79

WILL.

My fingers itches to be at the peasant. Ah, that I might be set a-work thus through the year, and that murder would grow to an occupation, that a man might [follow] without danger of law:—-zounds, I warrant I should be warden of the company! Come, let us be going, and we'll bait at Rochester, where I'll give thee a gallon of sack to handsel the match withal.

(Exeunt.)

[SCENE III]

(Here enters MICHAEL.)

MICHAEL.

I have gotten such a letter as will touch the painter. And thus it is: Here enters ARDEN and FRANKLIN and hears MICHAEL read this letter. "My duty remembered, Mistress Susan, hoping in God you be in good health, as I Michael was at the making hereof. This is to certify you that as the turtle true, when she hath lost her mate, sitteth alone, so I, mourning for your absence, do walk up and down Paul's till one day I fell asleep and lost my master's pantofles. Ah, Mistress Susan, abolish that paltry painter, cut him off by the shins with a frowning look of your crabbed countenance, and think upon Michael, who, drunk with the dregs of your favour, will cleave as fast to your love as a plaster of pitch to a galled horse-back. Thus hoping you will let my passions pene¬trate, or rather impetrate mercy of your meek hands, I end. “Yours, Michael, or else not Michael.”

ARDEN.

Why, you paltry knave, 5

Stand you here loitering, knowing my affairs, 6

What haste my business craves to send to Kent? 7

FRANKLIN.

Faith, friend Michael, this is very ill, 8

Knowing your master hath no more but you, 9

And do ye slack his business for your own? 10

ARDEN.

Where is the letter, sirrah? let me see it. 11

(Then he gives him the letter.)

See, Master Franklin, here's proper stuff: 12

Susan my maid, the painter, and my man, 13

A crew of harlots, all in love, forsooth; 14

Sirrah, let me hear no more of this, 15

Nor for thy life once write to her a word. 16

(Here enters GREENE, WILL, and SHAKEBAG.)

Wilt thou be married to so base a trull? 17

'Tis Mosbie's sister: come I once at home, 18

I'll rouse her from remaining in my house. 19

Now, Master Franklin, let us go walk in Paul's; 20

Come, but a turn or two, and then away. 21

(Exeunt.)

GREENE.

The first is Arden, and that's his man, 22

The other is Franklin, Arden's dearest friend. 23

WILL.

Zounds, I'll kill them all three. 24

GREENE.

Nay, sirs, touch not his man in any case; 25

But stand close, and take you fittest standing, 26

And at his coming forth speed him: 27

To the Nag's Head, there is this coward's haunt. 28

Exit Greene. But now I'll leave you till the deed be done. 29

SHAKEBAG.

If he be nor paid his own, ne'er trust Shakebag. 30

WILL.

Sirrah Shakebag, at his coming forth I'll run him through, and then to the Blackfriars, and there take water and away.

SHAKEBAG.

Why, that's the best; but see thou miss him not.

WILL.

How can I miss him, when I think on the forty angels I must have more?

(Here enters a PRENTICE.)

PRENTICE.

'Tis very late; I were best shut up my stall, for here will be old filching, when the press comes forth of Paul's.

(Then lets he down his window, and it breaks Black Will's head.)

WILL.

Zounds, draw, Shakebag, draw! I am almost killed. 35

PRENTICE.

We'll tame you, I warrant. 36

WILL.

Zounds, I am tame enough already. 37

(Here enters ARDEN, FRANKLIN, and MICHAEL.)

ARDEN.

What troublesome fray or mutiny is this? 38

FRANKLIN.

'Tis nothing but some brabbling paltry fray, 39

Devis'd to pick men's pockets in the throng. 40

ARDEN.

Exeunt. Is't nothing else? come, Franklin, let us away. 41

WILL.

What 'mends shall I have for my broken head?

PRENTICE.

Marry, this 'mends, that if you get you not away all the sooner, you shall be well beaten and sent to the Counter.

(Exit Prentice.)

WILL.

Well, I'll be gone, but look to your signs, for I'll pull them down all. Shakebag, my broken head grieves me not so much as by this means Arden hath escaped. I had a glimpse of him and his companion.

(Here enters GREENE.)

GREENE.

Why, sirs, Arden's as well as I; I met him and Franklin going merrily to the ordinary. What, dare you not do it?

WILL.

Yes, sir, we dare do it; but, were my consent to give again, we would not do it under ten pound more. I value every drop of my blood at a French crown. I have had ten pound to steal a dog, and we have no more here to kill a man; but that a bargain is a bargain, and so forth, you should do it yourself.

GREENE.

I pray thee, how came thy head broke? 47

WILL.

Why, thou seest it is broke, dost thou not? 48

SHAKEBAG.

Standing against a stall, watching Arden's coming, a boy let down his shop-window, and broke his head; whereupon arose a brawl, and in the tumult Arden escaped us and passed by unthought on. But forbearance is no acquittance; another time we'll do it, I warrant thee.

GREENE.

I pray thee, Will, make clean thy bloody brow, 50

And let us bethink us on some other place 51

Where Arden may be met with handsomely. 52

Remember how devoutly thou hast sworn 53

To kill the villain; think upon thine oath. 54

WILL.

Tush, I have broken five hundred oaths! 55

But wouldst thou charm me to effect this deed, 56

Tell me of gold, my resolution's fee; 57

Say thou seest Mosbie kneeling at my knees, 58

Offering me service for my high attempt, 59

And sweet Alice Arden, with a lap of crowns, 60

Comes with a lowly curtsey to the earth, 61

Saying, "Take this but for thy quarterage, 62

Such yearly tribute will I answer thee." 63

Why, this would steel soft-mettled cowardice, 64

With which Black Will was never tainted with. 65

I tell thee, Greene, the forlorn traveller, 66

Whose lips are glued with summer's parching heat, 67

Ne'er long'd so much to see a running brook 68

As I to finish Arden's tragedy. 69

Seest thou this gore that cleaveth to my face? 70

From hence ne'er will I wash this bloody stain, 71

Till Arden's heart be panting in my hand. 72

GREENE.

Why, that's well said; but what saith Shakebag? 73

SHAKEBAG.

I cannot paint my valour out with words: 74

But, give me place and opportunity, 75

Such mercy as the starven lioness, 76

When she is dry-suck'd of her eager young, 77

Shows to the prey that next encounters her, 78

On Arden so much pity would I take. 79

GREENE.

So should it fare with men of firm resolve. 80

And now, sirs, seeing [that] this accident 81

Of meeting him in Paul's hath no success, 82

Let us bethink us on some other place 83

Whose earth may swallow up this Arden's blood. 84

(Here enters MICHAEL.)

See, yonder comes his man: and wot you what? 85

The foolish knave is in love with Mosbie's sister, 86

And for her sake, whose love he cannot get 87

Unless Mosbie solicit his suit, 88

The villain hath sworn the slaughter of his master. 89

We'll question him, for he may stead us much.—- 90

¬How now, Michael, whither are you going? 91

MICHAEL.

My master hath new supp'd, 92

And I am going to prepare his chamber. 93

GREENE.

Where supp'd Master Arden? 94

MICHAEL.

At the Nag's Head, at the eighteen pence ordinary. How now, Master Shakebag? what, Black Will! God's dear lady, how chance your face is so bloody?

WILL.

Go to, sirrah, there is a chance in it; this sauciness in you will make you be knocked.

MICHAEL.

Nay, and you be offended, I'll be gone. 97

GREENE.

Stay, Michael, you may not 'scape us so. 98

Michael, I know you love your master well. 99

MICHAEL.

Why, so I do; but wherefore urge you that? 100

GREENE.

Because I think you love your mistress better. 101

MICHAEL.

So think not I: but say, i'faith, what if I should? 102

SHAKEBAG.

Come, to the purpose: Michael, we hear 103

You have a pretty love in Feversham. 104

MICHAEL.

Why, have I two or three, what's that to thee? 105

WILL.

You deal too mildly with the peasant. Thus it is: 106

'Tis known to us [that] you love Mosbie's sister; 107

We know besides that you have ta'en your oath 108

To further Mosbie to your mistress' bed, 109

And kill your master for his sister's sake. 110

Now, sir, a poorer coward than yourself 111

Was never foster'd in the coast of Kent: 112

How comes it then that such a knave as you 113

Dare swear a matter of such consequence? 114

GREENE.

Ah, Will—- 115

WILL.

Tush, give me leave, there's no more but this: 116

Sith thou hast sworn, we dare discover all; 117

And hadst thou [ruth,] or should'st thou utter it, 118

We have devis'd a complot under hand, 119

Whatever shall betide to any of us, 120

To send thee roundly to the devil of hell. 121

And therefore thus: I am the very man, 122

Marked in my birth-hour by the destinies, 123

To give an end to Arden's life on earth; 124

Thou but a member but to whet the knife 125

Whose edge must search the closet of his breast: 126

Thy office is but to appoint the place, 127

And train thy master to his tragedy; 128

Mine to perform it when occasion serves. 129

Then be not nice, but here devise with us 130

How and what way we may conclude his death. 131

SHAKEBAG.

So shalt thou purchase Mosbie for thy friend, 132

And by his friendship gain his sister's love. 133

GREENE.

So shall thy mistress be thy favourer, 134

And thou disburden'd of the oath thou made. 135

MICHAEL.

Well, gentlemen, I cannot but confess, 136

Sith you have urg'd me so apparently, 137

That I have vow'd my master Arden's death; 138

And he whose kindly love and liberal hand 139

Doth challenge nought but good deserts of me, 140

I will deliver over to your hands. 141

This night come to his house at Aldersgate: 142

The doors I'll leave unlock'd against you come. 143

No sooner shall ye enter through the latch, 144

Over the threshold to the inner court, 145

But on your left hand shall you see the stairs 146

That leads directly to my master's chamber: 147

There take him and dispose him as ye please. 148

Now it were good we parted company; 149

What I have promisèd, I will perform. 150

WILL.

Should you deceive us, 'twould go wrong with you. 151

MICHAEL.

I will accomplish all I have reveal'd. 152

WILL.

Come, let's go drink: choler makes me as dry as a dog. 153

(Exeunt Will, Greene, and Shakebag. Manet Michael.)

MICHAEL.

Thus feeds the lamb securely on the down, 154

Whilst through the thicket of an arbour brake 155

The hunger-bitten wolf o'erpries his haunt 156

And takes advantage [for] to eat him up. 157

Ah, harmless Arden, how, how hast thou misdone, 158

That thus thy gentle life is levell'd at? 159

The many good turns that thou hast done to me 160

Now must I quittance with betraying thee. 161

I that should take the weapon in my hand 162

And buckler thee from ill-intending foes, 163

Do lead thee with a wicked fraudful smile, 164

As unsuspected, to the slaughter-house. 165

So have I sworn to Mosbie and my mistress, 166

So have I promis'd to the slaughtermen; 167

And should I not deal currently with them, 168

Their lawless rage would take revenge on me. 169

Tush, I will spurn at mercy for this once: 170

Let pity lodge where feeble women lie, 171

I am resolv'd, and Arden needs must die. 172

(Exit Michael.)

[SCENE IV]

(Here enters ARDEN and FRANKLIN.)

ARDEN.

No, Franklin, no: if fear or stormy threats, 1

If love of me or care of womanhood, 2

If fear of God or common speech of men, 3

Who mangle credit with their wounding words, 4

And couch dishonour as dishonour buds, 5

Might 'join repentance in her wanton thoughts, 6

No question then but she would turn the leaf 7

And sorrow for her dissolution; 8

But she is rooted in her wickedness, 9

Perverse and stubborn, not to be reclaim'd; 10

Good counsel is to her as rain to weeds, 11

And reprehension makes her vice to grow 12

As Hydra's head that plenish'd by decay. 13

Her faults, methink, are painted in my face, 14

For every searching eye to overread; 15

And Mosbie's name, a scandal unto mine, 16

Is deeply trenchèd in my blushing brow. 17

Ah, Franklin, Franklin, when I think on this, 18

My heart's grief rends my other powers 19

Worse than the conflict at the hour of death. 20

FRANKLIN.

Gentle Arden, leave this sad lament: 21

She will amend, and so your griefs will cease; 22

Or else she'll die, and so your sorrows end. 23

If neither of these two do haply fall, 24

Yet let your comfort be that others bear 25

Your woes, twice doubled all, with patience. 26

ARDEN.

My house is irksome; there I cannot rest. 27

FRANKLIN.

Then stay with me in London; go not home. 28

ARDEN.

Then that base Mosbie doth usurp my room 29

And makes his triumph of my being thence. 30

At home or not at home, where'er I be, 31

Here, here it lies, ah Franklin, here it lies 32

That will not out till wretched Arden dies. 33

(Here enters MICHAEL.)

FRANKLIN.

Forget your griefs a while; here comes your man. 34

ARDEN.

What a'clock is't, sirrah? 35

MICHAEL.

Almost ten. 36

ARDEN.

See, see, how runs away the weary time! 37

Come, Master Franklin, shall we go to bed? 38

(Exeunt Arden and Michael. Manet Franklin.)

FRANKLIN.

I pray you, go before: I'll follow you. 39

—-Ah, what a hell is fretful jealousy! 40

What pity-moving words, what deep-fetch'd sighs, 41

What grievous groans and overlading woes 42

Accompanies this gentle gentleman! 43

Now will he shake his care-oppressèd head, 44

Then fix his sad eyes on the sullen earth, 45

Asham'd to gaze upon the open world; 46

Now will he cast his eyes up towards the heavens, 47

[As] looking that ways for redress of wrong: 48

Sometimes he seeketh to beguile his grief 49

And tells a story with his careful tongue; 50

Then comes his wife's dishonour in his thoughts 51

And in the middle cutteth off his tale, 52

Pouring fresh sorrow on his weary limbs. 53

So woe-begone, so inly charg’d with woe, 54

Was never any liv'd and bare it so. 55

(Here enters MICHAEL.)

MICHAEL.

My master would desire you come to bed. 56

FRANKLIN.

Is he himself already in his bed? 57

(Exit Franklin. Manet Michael.)

MICHAEL.

He is, and fain would have the light away. 58

—-Conflicting thoughts, encampèd in my breast, 59

Awake me with the echo of their strokes, 60

And I, a judge to censure either side, 61

Can give to neither wishèd victory. 62

My master's kindness pleads to me for life 63

With just demand, and I must grant it him: 64

My mistress she hath forc'd me with an oath, 65

For Susan's sake, the which I may not break, 66

For that is nearer than a master's love: 67

That grim-fac'd fellow, pitiless Black Will, 68

And Shakebag, stern in bloody stratagem, 69

—-Two rougher ruffians never lived in Kent—-¬ 70

Have sworn my death, if I infringe my vow, 71

A dreadful thing to be consider'd of. 72

Methinks I see them with their bolter'd hair 73

Staring and grinning in thy gentle face, 74

And in their ruthless hands their daggers drawn, 75

Insulting o'er thee with a peck of oaths, 76

Whilst thou submissive, pleading for relief, 77

Art mangled by their ireful instruments. 78

Methinks I hear them ask where Michael is, 79

And pitiless Black Will cries: "Stab the slave! 80

The peasant will detect the tragedy!" 81

The wrinkles in his foul death-threat'ning face 82

Gapes open wide, like graves to swallow men. 83

My death to him is but a merriment, 84

And he will murder me to make him sport. 85

He comes, he comes! ah, Master Franklin, help! 86

Call up the neighbours, or we are but dead! 87

(Here enters FRANKLIN and ARDEN.)

FRANKLIN.

What dismal outcry calls me from my rest? 88

ARDEN.

What hath occasion'd such a fearful cry? 89

Speak, Michael: hath any injur'd thee? 90

MICHAEL.

Nothing, sir; but as I fell asleep 91

Upon the threshold, leaning to the stairs, 92

I had a fearful dream that troubled me, 93

And in my slumber thought I was beset 94

With murderer thieves that came to rifle me. 95

My trembling joints witness my inward fear: 96

I crave your pardons for disturbing you. 97

ARDEN.

So great a cry for nothing I ne'er heard. 98

What, are the doors fast lock'd and all things safe? 99

MICHAEL.

I cannot tell; I think I lock'd the doors. 100

ARDEN.

I like not this, but I'll go see myself.—-¬ 101

Ne'er trust me but the doors were all unlock'd: 102

This negligence not half contenteth me. 103

Get you to bed, and if you love my favour, 104

Let me have no more such pranks as these. 105

Come, Master Franklin, let us go to bed. 106

FRANKLIN.

Ay, by my faith; the air is very cold. 107

Exeunt. Michael, farewell; I pray thee dream no more. 108

[SCENE V]

(Here enters WILL, GREENE, and SHAKEBAG.)

SHAKEBAG.

Black night hath hid the pleasures of the day, 1

And sheeting darkness overhangs the earth, 2

And with the black fold of her cloudy robe 3

Obscures us from the eyesight of the world, 4

In which sweet silence such as we triumph. 5

The lazy minutes linger on their time, 6

[As] loth to give due audit to the hour, 7

Till in the watch our purpose be complete, 8

And Arden sent to everlasting night. 9

Greene, get you gone, and linger here about, 10

And at some hour hence come to us again, 11

Where we will give you instance of his death. 12

GREENE.

Speed to my wish, whose will so e'er says no; 13

Exit Greene. And so I'll leave you for an hour or two. 14

WILL.

I tell thee, Shakebag, would this thing were done: 15

I am so heavy that I. can scarce go; 16

This drowsiness in me bodes little good. 17

SHAKEBAG.

How now, Will, become a precisian? 18

Nay then, let's go sleep, when bugs and fears 19

Shall kill our courages with their fancy's work. 20

WILL.

Why, Shakebag, thou mistakes me much, 21

And wrongs me too in telling me of fear. 22

Were't not a serious thing we go about, 23

It should be slipp'd till I had fought with thee, 24

To let thee know I am no coward, I. 25

I tell thee, Shakebag, thou abusest me. 26

SHAKEBAG.

Why, thy speech bewray'd an inly kind of fear, 27

And savour'd of a weak relenting spirit. 28

Go forward now in that we have begun, 29

And afterwards attempt me when thou darest. 30

WILL.

And if I do not, heaven cut me off! 31

But let that pass, and show me to this house, 32

Where thou shalt see I'll do as much as Shakebag. 33

SHAKEBAG.

This is the door; but soft, methinks 'tis shut. 34

The villain Michael hath deceivèd us. 35

WILL.

Soft, let me see; Shakebag, 'tis shut indeed. 36

Knock with thy sword, perhaps the slave will hear. 37

SHAKEBAG.

It will not he; the white-livered peasant 38

Is gone to bed, and laughs us both to scorn. 39

WILL.

And he shall buy his merriment as dear 40

As ever coistrel bought so little sport: 41

Ne'er let this sword assist me when I need, 42

But rust and canker after I have sworn, 43

If I, the next time that I meet the hind, 44

Lop not away his leg, his arm, or both. 45

SHAKEBAG.

And let me never draw a sword again, 46

Nor prosper in the twilight, cockshut light, 47

When I would fleece the wealthy passenger, 48

But lie and languish in a loathsome den, 49

Hated and spit at by the goers-by, 50

And in that death may die unpitièd, 51

If I, the next time that I meet the slave, 52

Cut not the nose from off the coward's face 53

And trample on it for this villainy. 54

WILL.

Come, let's go seek out Greene: I know he'll swear. 55

SHAKEBAG.

He were a villain, and he would not swear. 56

'Twould make a pedant swear amongst his boys, 57

That ne'er durst say before but "yea" and "no," 58

To be thus flouted of a coisterel. 59

WILL.

Shakebag, let's seek out Greene, and in the morning 60

At the alehouse butting Arden's house 61

Watch the out-coming of that prick-ear'd cur, 62

Exeunt. And then let me alone to handle him. 63

[SCENE VI]

(Here enters ARDEN, FRANKLIN, and MICHAEL.)

ARDEN.

Sirrah, get you back to Billingsgate 1

And learn what time the tide will serve our tum; 2

Come to us in Paul's. First go make the bed, 3

Exit Michael. And afterwards go hearken for the flood. 4

Come, Master Franklin, you shall go with me. 5

This night I dream'd that, being in a park, 6

A toil was pitch'd to overthrow the deer, 7

And I upon a little rising hill 8

Stood whistly watching for the herd's approach. 9

Even there, methoughts, a gentle slumber took me, 10

And summon'd all my parts to sweet repose; 11

But in the pleasure of this golden rest 12

An ill-thew'd foster had remov'd the toil, 13

And rounded me with that beguiling snare 14

Which late, methought, was pitch'd to cast the deer. 15

With that he blew an evil-sounding horn, 16

And at the noise another herdman came, 17

With falchion drawn, and bent it at my breast, 18

Crying aloud, "Thou art the game we seek!” 19

With this I wak'd and trembled every joint, 20

Like one obscurèd in a little bush, 21

That sees a lion foraging about, 22

And, when the dreadful forest-king is gone, 23

He pries about with timorous suspect 24

Throughout the thorny casements of the brake, 25

And will not think his person dangerless, 26

But quakes and shivers, though the cause be gone: 27

So, trust me, Franklin, when I did awake, 28

I stood in doubt whether I wak'd or no: 29

Such great impression took this fond surprise. 30

God grant this vision bedeem me any good. 31

FRANKLIN.

This fantasy doth rise from Michael's fear, 32

Who being awakèd with the noise he made, 33

His troubled senses yet could take no rest; 34

And this, I warrant you, procur'd your dream. 35

ARDEN.

It may be so, God frame it to the best: 36

But oftentimes my dreams presage too true. 37

FRANKLIN.

To such as note their nightly fantasies, 38

Some one in twenty may incur belief; 39

But use it not, 'tis but a mockery. 40

ARDEN.

Come, Master Franklin; we'll now walk in Paul's 41

And dine together at the ordinary, 42

And by my man's direction draw to the quay, 43

And with the tide go down to Feversham. 44

Say, Master Franklin, shall it not be so? 45

FRANKLIN.

At your good pleasure, sir; I'll bear you company. 46

(Exeunt.)

[SCENE VII]

(Here enters MICHAEL at one door.)

(Here enters GREENE, WILL, and SHAKEBAG at another door.)

WILL.

Draw, Shakebag, for here's that villain Michael. 1

GREENE.

First, Will, let's hear what he can say. 2

WILL.

Speak, milksop slave, and never after speak. 3

MICHAEL.

For God's sake, sirs, let me excuse myself: 4

For here I swear, by heaven and earth and all, 5

I did perform the utmost of my task, 6

And left the doors unbolted and unlock'd. 7

But see the chance: Franklin and my master 8

Were very late conferring in the porch, 9

And Franklin left his napkin where he sat 10

With certain gold knit in it, as he said. 11

Being in bed, he did bethink himself, 12

And coming down he found the doors unshut: 13

He lock'd the gates, and brought away the keys, 14

For which offence my master rated me. 15

But now I am going to see what flood it is, 16

For with the tide my master will away; 17

Where you may front him well on Rainham Down, 18

A place well fitting such a stratagem. 19

WILL.

Your excuse hath somewhat mollified my choler. 20

Why now, Greene, 'tis better now nor e'er it was. 21

GREENE.

But, Michael, is this true? 22

MICHAEL.

As true as I report it to be true. 23

SHAKEBAG.

Then, Michael, this shall be your penance, 24

To feast us all at the Salutation, 25

Where we will plot our purpose thoroughly. 26

GREENE.

And, Michael, you shall bear no news of this tide, 27

Because they two may be in Rainham Down 28

Before your master. 29

MICHAEL.

Why, I'll agree to anything you'll have me, 30

Exeunt. So you will except of my company. 31

[SCENE VIII]

(Here enters MOSBIE.)

MOSBIE.

Disturbèd thoughts drives me from company 1

And dries my marrow with their watchfulness; 2

Continual trouble of my moody brain 3

Feebles my body by excess of drink, 4

And nips me as the bitter north-east wind 5

Doth check the tender blossoms in the spring 6

Well fares the man, howe'er his cates do taste, 7

That tables not with foul suspicion; 8

And he but pines amongst his delicates, 9

Whose troubled mind is stuff'd with discontent. 10

My golden time was when I had no gold; 11

Though then I wanted, yet I slept secure; 12

My daily toil begat me night's repose, 13

My night's repose made daylight fresh to me. 14

But since I climb'd the top-bough of the tree 15

And sought to build my nest among the clouds, 16

Each gentlest airy gale doth shake my bed 17

And makes me dread my downfall to the earth. 18

But whither doth contemplation carry me? 19

The way I seek to find, where pleasure dwells, 20

Is hedg'd behind me that I cannot back, 21

But needs must on, although to danger's gate. 22

Then, Arden, perish thou by that decree; 23

For Greene doth ear the land and weed thee up 24

To make my harvest nothing but pure corn. 25

And for his pains I'll hive him up a while, 26

And after smother him to have his wax: 27

Such bees as Greene must never live to sting. 28

Then is there Michael and the painter too, 29

Chief actors too in Arden's overthrow; 30

Who when they shall see me sit in Arden's seat, 31

They will insult upon me for my meed, 32

Or fright me by detecting of his end. 33

I'll none of that, for I can cast a bone 34

To make these curs pluck out each other's throat, 35

And then am I sole ruler of mine own. 36

Yet Mistress Arden lives; but she's myself, 37

And holy church-rites makes us two but one. 38

But what for that? I may not trust you, Alice: 39

You have supplanted Arden for my sake, 40

And will extirpen me to plant another. 41

'Tis fearful sleeping in a serpent's bed, 42

And I will cleanly rid my hands of her. 43

(Here enters ALICE.)

But here she comes, and I must flatter her. 44

—-How now, Alice? what, sad and passionate? 45

Make me partaker of thy pensiveness: 46

Fire divided burns with lesser force. 47

ALICE.

But I will dam that fire in my breast 48

Till by the force thereof my heart consume. 49

Ah, Mosbie! 50

MOSBIE.

Such deep pathaires, like to a cannon's burst 51

Discharg'd against a ruinated wall, 52

Breaks my relenting heart in thousand pieces. 53

Ungentle Alice, thy sorrow is my sore; 54

Thou know'st it well, and 'tis thy policy 55

To forge distressful looks to wound a breast 56

Where lies a heart that dies when thou art sad. 57

It is not love that loves to anger love. 58

ALICE.

It is not love that loves to murder love. 59

MOSBIE.

How mean you that? 60

ALICE.

Thou knowest how dearly Arden lovèd me 61

MOSBIE.

And then? 62

ALICE.

And then—-conceal the rest, for 'tis too bad, 63

Lest that my words be carried with the wind, 64

And publish'd in the world to both our shames. 65

I pray thee, Mosbie, let our springtime wither; 66

Our harvest else will yield but loathsome weeds. 67

Forget, I pray thee, what hath pass'd betwixt us, 68

For now I blush and tremble at the thoughts. 69

MOSBIE.

What, are you chang'd? 70

ALICE.

Ay, to my former happy life again, 71

From title of an odious strumpet's name: 72

Honest Arden's wife, not Arden's honest wife. 73

Ha, Mosbie! 'tis thou has rifled me of that, 74

And made me slanderous to all my kin; 75

Even in my forehead is thy name ingraven, 76

A mean artificer, that low-born name. 77

I was bewitch'd: woe worth the hapless hour 78

And all the causes that enchanted me! 79

MOSBIE.

Nay, if thou ban, let me breathe curses forth, 80

And if you stand so nicely at your fame, 81

Let me repent the credit I have lost. 82

I have neglected matters of import 83

That would have stated me above thy state, 84

Forslow'd advantages, and spurn'd at time: 85

Ay, Fortune's right hand Mosbie hath forsook 86

To take a wanton giglot by the left. 87

I left the marriage of an honest maid, 88

Whose dowry would have weigh'd down all thy wealth, 89

Whose beauty and demeanour far exceeded thee: 90

This certain good I lost for changing bad, 91

And wrack'd my credit in thy company. 92

I was bewitch'd,—-that is no theme of thine¬—- 93

And thou unhallow'd has enchanted me. 94

But I will break thy spells and exorcisms, 95

And put another sight upon these eyes 96

That show'd my heart a raven for a dove. 97

Thou art not fair, I view'd thee not till now; 98

Thou art not kind, till now I knew thee not; 99

And now the rain hath beaten off thy gilt, 100

Thy worthless copper shows thee counterfeit. 101

It grieves me not to see how foul thou art, 102

But mads me that I ever thought thee fair. 103

Go, get thee gone, a copesmate for thy hinds; 104

I am too good to be thy favourite. 105

ALICE.

Ay, now I see, and too soon find it true, 106

Which often hath been told me by my friends, 107

That Mosbie loves me not but for my wealth, 108

Which too incredulous I ne'er believ'd. 109

Nay, hear me speak, Mosbie, a word or two; 110

I'll bite my tongue if it speak bitterly. 111

Look on me, Mosbie, or I'll kill myself: 112

Nothing shall hide me from thy stormy look. 113

If thou cry war, there is no peace for me; 114

I will do penance for offending thee, 115

And bum this prayer-book, where I here see 116

The holy word that had converted me. 117

See, Mosbie, I will tear away the leaf, 118

And all the leaves, and in this golden cover 119

Shall thy sweet phrases and thy letters dwell; 120

And thereon will I chiefly meditate, 121

And hold no other sect but such devotion. 122

Wilt thou not look? is all thy love o'erwhelm'd? 123

Wilt thou not hear? what malice stops thine ears? 124

Why speaks thou not? what silence ties thy tongue? 125

Thou hast been sighted as the eagle is, 126

And heard as quickly as the fearful hare, 127

And spoke as smoothly as an orator, 128

When I have bid thee hear or see or speak, 129

And art thou sensible in none of these? 130

Weigh all thy good turns with this little fault, 131

And I deserve not Mosbie's muddy looks. 132

A fount once troubl'd is not thicken'd still: 133

Be clear again, I'll ne'er more trouble thee. 134

MOSBIE.

O no, I am a base artificer: 135

My wings are feather'd for a lowly flight. 136

Mosbie? fie, no! not for a thousand pound. 137

Make love to you? why, 'tis unpardonable; 138

We beggars must not breathe where gentles are. 139

ALICE.

Sweet Mosbie is as gentle as a king, 140

And I too blind to judge him otherwise. 141

Flowers do sometimes spring in fallow lands, 142

Weeds in gardens, roses grow on thorns; 143

So, whatsoe'er my Mosbie's father was, 144

Himself [is] valued gentle by his worth. 145

MOSBIE.

Ah, how you women can insinuate, 146

And clear a trespass with your sweet-set tongue! 147

I will forget this quarrel, gentle Alice, 148

Provided I'll be tempted so no more. 149

(Here enters BRADSHAW.)

ALICE.

Then with thy lips seal up this new-made match. 150

MOSBIE.

Soft, Alice, for here comes somebody. 151

ALICE.

How now, Bradshaw, what's the news with you? 152

BRADSHAW.

I have little news, but here's a letter 153

That Master Greene importun'd me to give you. 154

ALICE.

Go in, Bradshaw; call for a cup of beer; 155

'Tis almost supper-time, thou shalt stay with us. 156

(Exit [Bradshaw].)

(Then she reads the letter.)

"We have missed of our purpose at London, but shall perform it by the way. We thank our neighbour Bradshaw.—- Yours, Richard Greene."

How likes my love the tenor of this letter? 159

MOSBIE.

Well, were his date expirèd and complete. 160

ALICE.

Ah, would it were! Then comes my happy hour: 161

Till then my bliss is mix'd with bitter gall. 162

Come, let us in to shun suspicion. 163

MOSBIE.

Exeunt. Ay, to the gates of death to follow thee. 164

[SCENE IX]

(Here enters GREENE, WILL, and SHAKEBAG.)

SHAKEBAG.

Come, Will, see thy tools be in a readiness. 1

Is not thy powder dank, or will thy flint strike fire? 2

WILL.

Then ask me if my nose be on my face, 3

Or whether my tongue be frozen in my mouth. 4

Zounds, here's a coil! 5

You were best swear me on the inter’gatories 6

How many pistols I have took in hand, 7

Or whether I love the smell of gunpowder, 8

Or dare abide the noise the dag will make, 9

Or will not wink at flashing of the fire. 10

I pray thee, Shakebag, let this answer thee, 11

That I have took more purses in this down 12

Than e'er thou handledst pistols in thy life. 13

SHAKEBAG.

Ay, haply thou has pick'd more in a throng: 14

But, should I brag what booties I have took, 15

I think the overplus that's more than thine 16

Would mount to a greater sum of money 17

Than either thou or all thy kin are worth. 18

Zounds, I hate them as I hate a toad 19

That carry a muscado in their tongue, 20

And scarce a hurting weapon in their hand. 21

WILL.

O Greene, intolerable! 22

It is not for mine honour to bear this. 23

Why, Shakebag, I did serve the king at Boulogne, 24

And thou canst brag of nothing that thou hast done. 25

SHAKEBAG.

Why, so can Jack of Feversham, 26

That sounded for a fillip on the nose, 27

When he that gave it him holloed in his ear, 28

And he suppos'd a cannon-bullet hit him. 29

(Then they fight.)

GREENE.

I pray you, sirs, list to Æsop's talk: 30

Whilst two stout dogs were striving for a bone, 31

There comes a cur and stole it from them both; 32

So, while you stand striving on these terms of manhood, 33

Arden escapes us, and deceives us all. 34

SHAKEBAG.

Why, he begun. 35

WILL.

And thou shalt find I'll end; 36

I do but slip it until better time: 37

But, if I do forget—- 38

(Then he kneels down and holds up his hands to heaven.)

GREENE.

Well, take your fittest standings, and once more 39

Lime [me] your twigs to catch this wary bird. 40

I'll leave you, and at your dag's discharge 41

Make towards, like the longing water-dog 42

That coucheth till the fowling-piece be off, 43

Then seizeth on the prey with eager mood. 44

Ah, might I see him stretching forth his limbs, 45

As I have seen them beat their wings ere now! 46

SHAKEBAG.

Why, that thou shalt see, if he come this way. 47

GREENE.

Yes, that he doth, Shakebag, I warrant thee: 48

But brawl not when I am gone in any case. 49

But, sirs, be sure to speed him when he comes, 50

And in that hope I'll leave you for an hour. 51

(Exit Greene.)

(Here enters ARDEN, FRANKLIN, and MICHAEL.)

MICHAEL.

'Twere best that I went back to Rochester: 52

The horse halts downright; it were not good 53

He travelled in such pain to Feversham; 54

Removing of a shoe may haply help it. 55

ARDEN.

Well, get you back to Rochester; but, sirrah, see 56

Ye overtake us ere we come to Rainham Down, 57

For it will be very late ere we get home. 58

MICHAEL.

Ay, God he knows, and so doth Will and Shakebag, 59

That thou shalt never go further than that down; 60

And therefore have I prick'd the horse on purpose, 61

(Exit Michael.)

Because I would not view the massacre. 62

ARDEN.

Come, Master Franklin, onwards with your tale. 63

FRANKLIN.

I do assure you, sir, you task me much: 64

A heavy blood is gather'd at my heart, 65

And on the sudden is my wind so short 66

As hindereth the passage of my speech; 67

So fierce a qualm yet ne'er assailèd me. 68

ARDEN.

Come, Master Franklin, let us go on softly: 69

The annoyance of the dust or else some meat 70

You ate at dinner cannot brook with you. 71

I have been often so, and soon amended. 72

FRANKLIN.

Do you remember where my tale did leave? 73

ARDEN.

Ay, where the gentleman did check his wife. 74

FRANKLIN.

She being reprehended for the fact, 75

Witness produc'd that took her with the deed, 76

Her glove brought in which there she left behind, 77

And many other assurèd arguments, 78

Her husband ask'd her whether it were not so. 79

ARDEN.

Her answer then? I wonder how she look'd, 80

Having forsworn it with such vehement oaths, 81

And at the instant so approv'd upon her. 82

FRANKLIN.

First did she cast her eyes down to the earth, 83

Watching the drops that fell amain from thence; 84

Then softly draws she forth her handkercher, 85

And modestly she wipes her tear-stain'd face; 86

Then hemm'd she out, to clear her voice should seem, 87

And with a majesty address'd herself 88

To encounter all their accusations.—- 89

Pardon me, Master Arden, I can no more; 90

This fighting at my heart makes short my wind. 91

ARDEN.

Come, we are almost now at Rainham Down: 92

Your pretty tale beguiles the weary way; 93

I would you were in state to tell it out. 94

SHAKEBAG.

Stand close, Will, I hear them coming. 95

(Here enters LORD CHEINY with his men.)

WILL.

Stand to it, Shakebag, and be resolute. 96

L. CHEINY.

Is it so near night as it seems, 97

Or will this black-fac'd evening have a shower? 98

—-What, Master Arden! you are well met, 99

I have long'd this fortnight's day to speak with you: 100

You are a stranger, man, in the Isle of Sheppey. 101

ARDEN.

Your honour’s always! bound to do you service. 102

L. CHEINY.

Come you from London, and ne'er a man with you? 103

ARDEN.

My man's coming after, 104

But here's my honest friend that came along with me. 105

L. CHEINY.

My Lord Protector's man I take you to be. 106

FRANKLIN.

Ay, my good lord, and highly bound to you. 107

L. CHEINY.

You and your friend come home and sup with me. 108

ARDEN.

I beseech your honour pardon me; 109

I have made a promise to a gentleman, 110

My honest friend, to meet him at my house; 111

The occasion is great, or else would I wait on you. 112

L. CHEINY.

Will you come to-morrow and dine with me, 113

And bring your honest friend along with you? 114

I have divers matters to talk with you about. 115

ARDEN.

To-morrow we'll wait upon your honour. 116

L. CHEINY.

One of you stay my horse at the top of the hill. 117

—-What, Black Will! for whose purse wait you? 118

Thou wilt be hang'd in Kent, when all is done. 119

WILL.

Not hang'd, God save your honour; 120

I am your bedesman, bound to pray for you. 121

L. CHEINY.

I think thou ne'er said'st prayer in all thy life. 122

One of you give him a crown:—- 123

And, sirrah, leave this kind of life; 124

If thou beest tainted for a penny-matter, 125

And come in question, surely thou wilt truss. 126

—-Come, Master Arden, let us be going; 127

Your way and mine lies four mile together. 128

(Exeunt. Manet Black Will and Shakebag.)

WILL.

The devil break all your necks at four miles' end! 129

Zounds, I could kill myself for very anger! 130

His lordship chops me in, 131

Even when my dag was levell'd at his heart. 132

I would his crown were molten down his throat. 133

SHAKEBAG.

Arden, thou hast wondrous holy luck. 134

Did ever man escape as thou hast done? 135

Well, I'll discharge my pistol at the sky, 136

For by this bullet Arden might not die. 137

(Here enters GREENE.)

GREENE.

What, is he down? is he despatch'd? 138

SHAKEBAG.

Ay, in health towards Feversham, to shame us all. 139

GREENE.

The devil he is! why, sirs, how escap'd he? 140

SHAKEBAG.

When we were ready to shoot, 141

Comes my Lord Cheiny to prevent his death. 142

GREENE.

The Lord of Heaven hath preserv'd him. 143

WILL.

Preserv'd a fig! The Lord Cheiny hath preserv'd him, 144

And bids him to a feast to his house at Shorlow. 145

But by the way once more I'll meet with him, 146

And, if all the Cheinies in the world say no, 147

I'll have a bullet in his breast to-morrow. 148

Therefore come, Greene, and let us to Feversham. 149

GREENE.

Ay, and excuse ourselves to Mistress Arden: 150

O, how she'll chafe when she hears of this! 151

SHAKEBAG.

Why, I'll warrant you she'll think we dare not do it. 152

WILL.

Why, then, let us go, and tell her all the matter, 153

Exeunt. And plot the news to cut him off to-morrow. 154

[SCENE X]

(Here enters ARDEN and his wife, FRANKLIN, and MICHAEL.)

ARDEN.

See how the hours, the guardant of heaven's gate, 1

Have by their toil remov'd the darksome clouds, 2

That Sol may well discern the trampled pace 3

Wherein he wont to guide his golden car; 4

The season fits; come, Franklin, let's away. 5

ALICE.

I thought you did pretend some special hunt, 6

That made you thus cut short the time of rest. 7

ARDEN.

It was no chase that made me rise so early, 8

But, as I told thee yesternight, to go 9

To the Isle of Sheppey, there to dine with my Lord Cheiny; 10

For so his honour late commanded me. 11

ALICE.

Ay, such kind husbands seldom want excuses; 12

Home is a wild cat to a wandering wit. 13

The time hath been,—-would God it were not past,—-¬ 14

That honour's title nor a lord's command 15

Could once have drawn you from these arms of mine. 16

But my deserts or your desires decay, 17

Or both; yet if true love may seem desert, 18

I merit still to have thy company. 19

FRANKLIN.

Why, I pray you, sir, let her go along with us; 20

I am sure his honour will welcome her 21

And us the more for bringing her along. 22

ARDEN.

Content; sirrah, saddle your mistress' nag. 23

ALICE.

No, begg'd favour merits little thanks; 24

If I should go, our house would run away, 25

Or else be stolen; therefore I'll stay behind. 26

ARDEN.

Nay, see how mistaking you are! I pray thee, go. 27

ALICE.

No, no, not now. 28

ARDEN.

Then let me leave thee satisfied in this, 29

That time nor place nor persons alter me, 30

But that I hold thee dearer than my life. 31

ALICE.

That will be seen by your quick return. 32

ARDEN.

And that shall be ere night, and if I live. 33

Farewell, sweet Alice, we mind to sup with thee. 34

(Exit Alice.)

FRANKLIN.

Come, Michael, are our horses ready? 35

MICHAEL.

Ay, your horse are ready, but I am not ready, for I have lost my purse, with six and thirty shillings in it, with taking up of my master's nag.

FRANKLIN.

Why, I pray you, let us go before, 37

Whilst he stays behind to seek his purse. 38

ARDEN.

Go to, sirrah, see you follow us to the Isle of Sheppey 39

To my Lord Cheiny's, where we mean to dine. 40

(Exeunt Arden and Franklin. Manet Michael.)

MICHAEL.

So, fair weather after you, for before you lies Black Will and Shakebag in the broom close, too close for you. They'll be your ferrymen to [your] long home. Here enters the Painter. But who is this? the painter, my corrival, that would needs win Mistress Susan.

CLARKE.

How now, Michael? how doth my mistress and all at home?

MICHAEL.

Who, Susan Mosbie? she is your mistress, too?

CLARKE.

Ay, how doth she and all the rest?

MICHAEL.

All's well but Susan; she is sick.

CLARKE.

Sick? Of what disease?

MICHAEL.

Of a great fever.

CLARKE.

A fear of what?

MICHAEL.

A great fever.

CLARKE.

A fever? God forbid!

MICHAEL.

Yes, faith, and of a lurden, too, as big as yourself.

CLARKE.

O, Michael, the spleen prickles you. Go to, you carry an eye over Mistress Susan.

MICHAEL.

Ay, faith, to keep her from the painter.

CLARKE.

Why more from a painter than from a serving-creature like yourself?

MICHAEL.

Because you painters make but a painting table of a pretty wench, and spoil her beauty with blotting.

CLARKE.

What mean you by that?

MICHAEL.

Why, that you painters paint lambs in the lining of wenches' petticoats, and we serving-men put horns to them to make them become sheep.

CLARKE.

Such another word will cost you a cuff or a knock.

MICHAEL.

What, with a dagger made of a pencil? Faith, 'tis too weak, and therefore thou too weak to win Susan.

CLARKE.

Would Susan's love lay upon this stroke.

(Then he breaks Michael's head.)

(Here enters MOSBIE, GREENE, and ALICE.)

ALICE.

I'll lay my life, this is for Susan's love. 62

Stay'd you behind your master to this end? 63

Have you no other time to brabble in 64

But now when serious matters are in hand?—- 65

([Exit Michael.])

Say, Clarke, hast thou done the thing thou promisèd? 66

CLARKE.

Ay, here it is; the very touch is death. 67

ALICE.

Then this, I hope, if all the rest do fail, 68

Will catch Master Arden, 69

And make him wise in death that liv'd a fool. 70

Why should he thrust his sickle in our corn, 71

Or what hath he to do with thee, my love, 72

Or govern me that am to rule myself? 73

Forsooth, for credit sake, I must leave thee! 74

Nay, he must leave to live that we may love, 75

May love, may live; for what is life but love? 76

And love shall last as long as life remains, 77

And life shall end before my love depart. 78

MOSBIE.

Why, what is love without true constancy? 79

Like to a pillar built of many stones, 80

Yet neither with good mortar well compact 81

Nor cement [for] to fasten it in the joints, 82

But that it shakes with every blast of wind, 83

And, being touch'd, straight falls unto the earth, 84

And buries all his haughty pride in dust. 85

No, let our love be rocks of adamant, 86

Which time nor place nor tempest can asunder. 87

GREENE.

Mosbie, leave protestations now, 88

And let us bethink us what we have to do. 89

Black Will and Shakebag I have plac'd 90

I' the broom close watching Arden’s coming; 91

Exeunt. Let's to them and see what they have done. 92

[SCENE XI]

(Here enters ARDEN and FRANKLIN.)

ARDEN.

Oh, ferryman, where art thou? 1

(Here enters the FERRYMAN.)

FERRYMAN.

Here, here, go before to the boat, and I will follow you. 2

ARDEN.

We have a great haste; I pray thee, come away. 3

FERRYMAN.

Fie, what a mist is here! 4

ARDEN.

This mist, my friend, is mystical, 5

Like to a good companion's smoky brain, 6

That was half drown'd with new ale overnight. 7

FERRYMAN.

'Twere pity but his skull were opened to make more chimney room. 8

FRANKLIN.

Friend, what's thy opinion of this mist? 9

FERRYMAN.

I think 'tis like to a curst wife in a little house, that never leaves her husband till she have driven him out at doors with a wet pair of eyes; then looks he as if his house were afire, or some of his friends dead.

ARDEN.

Speaks thou this of thine own experience? 11

FERRYMAN.

Perhaps, ay; perhaps, no: for my wife is as other women are, that is to say, governed by the moon.

FRANKLIN.

By the moon? how, I pray thee? 13

FERRYMAN.

Nay, thereby lies a bargain, and you shall not have it fresh and fasting.

ARDEN.

Yes, I pray thee, good ferryman. 15

FERRYMAN.

Then for this once let it be midsummer moon, but yet my wife has another moon.

FRANKLIN.

Another moon? 17

FERRYMAN.

Ay, and it hath influences and eclipses. 18

ARDEN.

Why, then, by this reckoning you sometimes play the man in the moon? 19

FERRYMAN.

Ay, but you had not best to meddle with that moon, lest I scratch you by the face with my bramble-bush.

ARDEN.

I am almost stifled with this fog; come, let's away. 21

FRANKLIN.

And, sirrah, as we go, let us have some more of your bold yeomanry. 22

FERRYMAN.

Exeunt. Nay, by my troth, sir, but flat knavery. 23

[SCENE XII]

(Here enters WILL at one door, and SHAKEBAG at another.)

SHAKEBAG.

O, Will, where art thou? 1

WILL.

Here, Shakebag, almost in hell's mouth, where I cannot see my way for smoke.

SHAKEBAG.

I pray thee speak still that we may meet by the sound, for I shall fall into some ditch or other, unless my feet see better than my eyes.

WILL.

Didst thou ever see better weather to run away with another man's wife, or play with a wench at pot-finger?

SHAKEBAG.

No; this were a fine world for chandlers, if this weather would last; for then a man should never dine nor sup without candle-light. But, sirrah Will, what horses are those that passed?

WILL.

Why, didst thou hear any? 6

SHAKEBAG.

Ay, that I did. 7

WILL.

My life for thine, 'twas Arden and his companion, and then all our labour's lost.

SHAKEBAG.

Nay, say not so, for if it be they, they may haply lose their way as we have done, and then we may chance meet with them.

WILL.

Come, let us go on like a couple of blind pilgrims.

(Then Shakebag falls into a ditch.)

SHAKEBAG.

Help, Will, help, I am almost drowned. 11

(Here enters the FERRYMAN.)

FERRYMAN.

Who's that that calls for help? 12

WILL.

'Twas none here, 'twas thou thyself. 13

FERRYMAN.

I came to help him that called for help. 14

Why, how now? who is this that's in the ditch? 15

You are well enough served to go without a guide such weather as this. 16

WILL.

Sirrah, what companies hath passed your ferry this morning?

FERRYMAN.

None but a couple of gentlemen, that went to dine at my Lord Cheiny's.

WILL.

Shakebag, did not I tell thee as much?

FERRYMAN.

Why, sir, will you have any letters carried to them?

WILL.

No, sir; get you gone.

FERRYMAN.

Did you ever see such a mist as this?

WILL.

No, nor such a fool as will rather be hocked than get his way.

FERRYMAN.

Why, sir, this is no Hock-Monday; you are deceived. —-What's his name, I pray you, sir?

SHAKEBAG.

His name is Black Will.

FERRYMAN.

I hope to see him one day hanged upon a hill.

(Exit Ferryman.)

SHAKEBAG.

See how the sun hath clear'd the foggy mist, 28

Now we have miss'd the mark of our intent. 29

(Here enters GREENE, MOSBIE, and ALICE.)

MOSBIE.

Black Will and Shakebag, what make you here? 30

What, is the deed done? is Arden dead? 31

WILL.

What could a blinded man perform in arms? 32

Saw you not how till now the sky was dark, 33

That neither horse nor man could be discern'd? 34

Yet did we hear their horses as they pass'd. 35

GREENE.

Have they escap'd you, then, and pass'd the ferry? 36

SHAKEBAG.

Ay, for a while; but here we two will stay, 37

And at their coming back meet with them once more. 38

Zounds, I was ne'er so toil'd in all my life 39

In following so slight a task as this. 40

MOSBIE.

How cam'st thou so beray'd? 41

WILL.

With making false footing in the dark; 42

He needs would follow them without a guide. 43

ALICE.

Here's to pay for a fire and good cheer: 44

Get you to Feversham to the Flower-de-luce, 45

And rest yourselves until some other time. 46

GREENE.

Let me alone; it most concerns my state. 47

WILL.

Ay, Mistress Arden, this will serve the turn, 48

In case we fall into a second fog. 49

(Exeunt Greene, Will, and Shakebag.)

MOSBIE.

These knaves will never do it, let us give it over. 50

ALICE.

First tell me how you like my new device: 51

Soon, when my husband is returning back, 52

You and I both marching arm in arm, 53

Like loving friends, we'll meet him on the way, 54

And boldly beard and brave him to his teeth. 55

When words grow hot and blows begin to rise, 56

I'll call those cutters forth your tenement, 57

Who, in a manner to take up the fray, 58

Shall wound my husband Hornsby to the death. 59

MOSBIE.

Exeunt. Ah, fine device! why, this deserves a kiss. 60

[SCENE XIII]

(Here enters DICK REEDE and a SAILOR.)

SAILOR.

Faith, Dick Reede, it is to liule end: 1

His conscience is too liberal, and he too niggardly 2

To part from any thing may do thee good. 3

REEDE.

He is coming from Shorlow as I understand; 4

Here I'll intercept him, for at his house 5

He never will vouchsafe to speak with me. 6

If prayers and fair entreaties will not serve, 7

Or make no battery in his flinty breast, 8

(Here enters FRANKLIN, ARDEN, and MICHAEL,)

I'll curse the carle, and see what that will do. 9

See where he comes to further my intent!—-¬ 10

Master Arden, I am now bound to the sea; 11

My coming to you was about the plot of ground 12

Which wrongfully you detain from me. 13

Although the rent of it be very small, 14

Yet will it help my wife and children, 15

Which here I leave in Feversham, God knows, 16

Needy and bare: for Christ's sake, let them have it! 17

ARDEN.

Franklin, hearest thou this fellow speak? 18

That which he craves I dearly bought of him, 19

Although the rent of it was ever mine.—- 20

Sirrah, you that ask these questions, 21

If with thy clamorous impeaching tongue 22

Thou rail on me, as I have heard thou dost, 23

I'll lay thee up so close a twelve-month's day, 24

As thou shalt neither see the sun nor moon. 25

Look to it, for, as surely as I live, 26

I'll banish pity if thou use me thus. 27

REEDE.

What, wilt thou do me wrong and threat me too? 28

Nay, then, I'll tempt thee, Arden, do thy worst. 29

God, I beseech thee, show some miracle 30

On thee or thine, in plaguing thee for this. 31

That plot of ground which thou detains from me, 32

I speak it in an agony of spirit, 33

Be ruinous and fatal unto thee! 34

Either there be butcher'd by thy dearest friends, 35

Or else be brought for men to wonder at, 36

Or thou or thine miscarry in that place, 37

Or there run mad and end thy cursèd days! 38

FRANKLIN.

Fie, bitter knave, bridle thine envious tongue; 39

For curses are like arrows shot upright, 40

Which falling down light on the shooter's head. 41

REEDE.

Light where they will! Were I upon the sea, 42

As oft I have in many a bitter storm, 43

And saw a dreadful southern flaw at hand, 44

The pilot quaking at the doubtful storm, 45

And all the sailors praying on their knees, 46

Even in that fearful time would I fall down, 47

And ask of God, whate'er betide of me, 48

Vengeance on Arden or some misevent 49

To show the world what wrong the carle hath done. 50

This charge I'll leave with my distressful wife, 51

My children shall be taught such prayers as these; 52

And thus I go, but leave my curse with thee. 53

(Exeunt Reede and Sailor.)

ARDEN.

It is the railingest knave in Christendom, 54

And oftentimes the villain will be mad; 55

It greatly matters not what he says, 56

But I assure you I ne'er did him wrong. 57

FRANKLIN.

I think so, Master Arden. 58

ARDEN.

Now that our horses are gone home before, 59

My wife may haply meet me on the way. 60

For God knows she is grown passing kind of late, 61

And greatly chang'd from the old humour 62

Of her wonted frowardness, 63

And seeks by fair means to redeem old faults. 64

FRANKLIN.

Happy the change that alters for the best! 65

But see in any case you make no speech 66

Of the cheer we had at my Lord Cheiny's, 67

Although most bounteous and liberal, 68

For that will make her think herself more wrong'd, 69

In that we did not carry her along; 70

For sure she griev'd that she was left behind. 71

ARDEN.

Come, Franklin, let us strain to mend our pace, 72

And take her unawares playing the cook; 73

(Here enters ALICE and MOSBIE.)

For I believe she'll strive to mend our cheer. 74

FRANKLIN.

Why, there's no better creatures in the world, 75

Than women are when they are in good humours. 76

ARDEN.

Who is that? Mosbie? what, so familiar? 77

Injurious strumpet, and thou ribald knave, 78

Untwine those arms. 79

ALICE.

Ay, with a sugar'd kiss let them untwine. 80

ARDEN.

Ah, Mosbie! perjur'd beast! bear this and all! 81

MOSBIE.

And yet no hornèd beast; the horns are thine. 82

FRANKLIN.

O monstrous! Nay, then 'tis time to draw. 83

ALICE.

Help, help! they murder my husband. 84

(Here enters WILL and SHAKEBAG.)

SHAKEBAG.

Zounds, who injures Master Mosbie? Help, Will! I am hurt. 85

MOSBIE.

I may thank you, Mistress Arden, for this wound. 86

(Exeunt Mosbie, Will, and Shakebag.)

ALICE.

Ah, Arden, what folly blinded thee? 87

Ah, jealous harebrain man, what hast thou done! 88

When we, to welcome thee, intending sport, 89

Came lovingly to meet thee on thy way, 90

Thou drew'st thy sword, enrag'd with jealousy, 91

And hurt thy friend whose thoughts were free from harm: 92

All for a worthless kiss and joining arms, 93

Both done but merrily to try thy patience. 94

Ah me unhappy that clevis'd the jest, 95

Which, though begun in sport, yet ends in blood! 96

FRANKLIN.

Marry, God defend me from such a jest! 97

ALICE.

Couldst thou not see us friendly smile on thee, 98

When we join'd arms, and when I kiss'd his cheek? 99

Hast thou not lately found me over-kind? 100

Didst thou not hear me cry "they murder thee"? 101

Call'd I not help to set my husband free? 102

No, ears and all were witch'd; ah me accurs'd 103

To link in liking with a frantic man! 104

Henceforth I'll be thy slave, no more thy wife, 105

For with that name I never shall content thee. 106

If I be merry, thou straightways thinks me light; 107

If sad, thou sayest the sullens trouble me; 108

If well attir'd, thou thinks I will be gadding; 109

If homely, I seem sluttish in thine eye: 110

Thus am I still, and shall be while I die, 111

Poor wench, abus'd by thy misgovernment! 112

ARDEN.

But is it for truth that neither thou nor he 113

Intendedst malice in your misdemeanour? 114

ALICE.

The heavens can witness of our harmless thoughts, 115

ARDEN.

Then pardon me, sweet Alice, and forgive this fault! 116

Forget but this and never see the like. 117

Impose me penance, and I will perform it, 118

For in thy discontent I find a death, 119

A death tormenting more than death itself. 120

ALICE.

Nay, hadst thou lov'd me as thou dost pretend, 121

Thou wouldst have mark'd the speeches of thy friend, 122

Who going wounded from the place, he said 123

His skin was pierc'd only through my device; 124

And if sad sorrow taint thee for this fault, 125

Thou wouldst have follow'd him, and seen him dress'd, 126

And cried him mercy whom thou has misdone: 127

Ne'er shall my heart be eas'd till this be done. 128

ARDEN.

Content thee, sweet Alice, thou shalt have thy will, 129

Whate'er it be. For that I injur'd thee, 130

And wrong'd my friend, shame scourgeth my offence; 131

Come thou thyself, and go along with me, 132

And be a mediator 'twixt us two. 133

FRANKLIN.

Why, Master Arden! know you what you do? 134

Will you follow him that hath dishonour'd you? 135

ALICE.

Why, canst thou prove I have been disloyal? 136

FRANKLIN.

Why, Mosbie taunt your husband with the horn. 137

ALICE.

Ay, after he had revilèd him 138

By the injurious name of perjured beast: 139

He knew no wrong could spite a jealous man 140

More than the hateful naming of the horn. 141

FRANKLIN.

Suppose 'tis true, yet is it dangerous 142

To follow him whom he hath lately hurt. 143

ALICE.

A fault confess'd is more than half amends; 144

But men of such ill spirit as yourself 145

Work crosses and debates 'twixt man and wife. 146

ARDEN.

I pray thee, gentle Franklin, ho1d thy peace: 147

I know my wife counsels me for the best. 148

I'll seek out Mosbie where his wound is dress'd, 149

And salve this hapless quarrel if I may. 150

(Exeunt Arden and Alice.)

FRANKLIN.

He whom the devil drives must go perforce, 151

Poor gentleman, how soon he is bewitch'd! 152

And yet, because his wife is the instrument, 153

His friends must not be lavish in their speech. 154

(Exit Franklin.)

[SCENE XIV]

(Here enters WILL, SHAKEBAG, and GREENE.)

WILL.

Sirrah Greene, when was I so long in killing a man?

GREENE.

I think we shall never do it; let us give it over.

SHAKEBAG.

Nay, zounds! we'll kill him, though we be hanged at his door for our labour.

WILL.

Thou knowest, Greene, that I have lived in London this twelve years, where I have made some go upon wooden legs for taking the wall on me; divers with silver noses for saying "There goes Black Will!" I have cracked as many blades as thou hast done nuts.

GREENE.

O monstrous lie!

WILL.

Faith, in a manner I have. The bawdy-houses have paid me tribute; there durst not a whore set up, unless she have agreed with me first for opening her shop-windows. For a cross word of a tapster I have pierced one barrel after another with my dagger, and held him by the ears till all his beer hath run out. In Thames Street a brewer's cart was like to have run over me: I made no more ado, but went to the clerk and cut all the notches off his tallies and beat them about his head. I and my company have taken the constable from his watch, and carried him about the fields on a coltstaff. I have broken a sergeant's head with his own mace, and bailed whom I list with my sword and buckler. All the tenpenny-alehouses would stand every morning with a quart-pot in his hand, saying, " Will it please your worship drink?" He that had not done so, had been sure to have had his sign pulled down and his lattice borne away the next night. To conclude, what have I not done? yet cannot do this; doubtless, he is preserved by miracle.

(Here enters ALICE and MICHAEL.)

GREENE.

Hence, Will! here comes Mistress Arden.

ALICE.

Ah, gentle Michael, art thou sure they're friends? 8

MICHAEL.

Why, I saw them when they both shook hands. 9

When Mosbie bled, he even wept for sorrow, 10

And rail'd on Franklin that was cause of all. 11

No sooner came the surgeon in at doors, 12

But my master took to his purse and gave him money, 13

And, to conclude, sent me to bring you word 14

That Mosbie, Franklin, Bradshaw, Adam Fowle, 15

With divers of his neighbours and his friends, 16

Will come and sup with you at our house this night. 17

ALICE.

Ah, gentle Michael, run thou back again, 18

And, when my husband walks into the fair, 19

Bid Mosbie steal from him and come to me; 20

And this night shall thou and Susan be made sure. 21

MICHAEL.

I'll go tell him. 22

ALICE.

And as thou goest, tell John cook of our guests, 23

Exit Michael. And bid him lay it on, spare for no cost. 24

WILL.

Nay, and there be such cheer, we will bid ourselves.¬—- 25

Mistress Arden, Dick Greene and I do mean to sup with you. 26

ALICE.

And welcome shall you be. Ah, gentlemen, 27

How miss’d you of your purpose yesternight? 28

GREENE.

'Twas' long of Shakebag, that unlucky villain. 29

SHAKEBAG.

Thou dost me wrong; I did as much as any. 30

WILL.

Nay then, Mistress Alice, I'll tell you how it was: 31

When he should have lock'd with both his hilts, 32

He in a bravery flourish'd o’er his head; 33

With that comes Franklin at him lustily, 34

And hurts the slave; with that he slinks away. 35

Now his way had been to have come hand and feet, one and two round at his costard; he like a fool bears his sword-point half a yard out of danger. I lie here, for my life; if the devil come, and he have no more strength than fence, he shall never beat me from this ward. I’ll stand to it, a buckler in a skilful hand is as good as a castle; nay,

'Tis better than a sconce, for I have tried it. 37

Mosbie, perceiving this, began to faint: 38

With that comes Arden with his arming sword, 39

And thrust him through the shoulder in a trice. 40

ALICE.

Ay, but I wonder why you both stood still. 41

WILL.

Faith, I was so amaz'd, I could not strike. 42

ALICE.

Ah, sirs, had he yestemight been slain, 43

For every drop of his detested blood 44

I would have cramm'd an angel in thy fist, 45

And kiss'd thee, too, and hugg'd thee in my arms. 46

WILL.

Patient yourself, we cannot help it now. 47

Greene and we two will dog him through the fair, 48

And stab him in the crowd, and steal away. 49

(Here enters MOSBIE.)

ALICE.

It is unpossible; but here comes he 50

That will, I hope, invent some surer means. 51

Sweet Mosbie, hide thy arm, it kills my heart. 52

MOSBIE.

Ay, Mistress Arden, this is your favour. 53

ALICE.

Ah, say not so; for when I saw thee hurt, 54

I could have took the weapon thou let'st fall, 55

And run at Arden; for I have sworn 56

That these mine eyes, offended with his sight, 57

Shall never close till Arden's be shut up. 58

This night I rose and walk'd about the chamber, 59

And twice or thrice I thought to have murder'd him. 60

MOSBIE.

What, in the night? then had we been undone. 61

ALICE.

Why, how long shall he live? 62

MOSBIE.

Faith, Alice, no longer than this night.—-¬ 63

Black Will and Shakebag, will you two perform 64

The complot that I have laid? 65

WILL.

Ay, or else think me as a villain.

GREENE.

And rather than you shall want, I'll help myself.

MOSBIE.

You, Master Greene, shall single Franklin forth, 68

And hold him with a long tale of strange news, 69

That he may not come home till supper-time. 70

I'll fetch Master Arden home, and we like friends 71

Will play a game or two at tables here. 72

ALICE.

But what of all this? how shall he be slain? 73

MOSBIE.

Why, Black Will and Shakebag lock'd within the counting-house 74

Shall, at a certain watchword given, rush forth. 75

WILL.

What shall the watchword be?

MOSBIE.

''Now I can take you"; that shall be the word: 77

But come not forth before in any case. 78

WILL.

I warrant you. But who shall lock me in?

ALICE.

That will I do; thou'st keep the key thyself. 80

MOSBIE.

Come, Master Greene, go you along with me. 81

See all things ready, Alice, against we come. 82

ALICE.

Take no care for that; send you him home 83

(Exeunt Mosbie and Greene.)

And if he e'er go forth again, blame me. 84

Come, Black Will, that in mine eyes art fair; 85

Next unto Mosbie do I honour thee; 86

Instead of fair words and large promises 87

My hands shall play you golden harmony: 88

How like you this? say, will you do it, sirs? 89

WILL.

Ay, and that bravely, too. Mark my device: 90

Place Mosbie, being a stranger, in a chair, 91

And let your husband sit upon a stool, 92

That I may come behind him cunningly, 93

And with a towel pull him to the ground, 94

Then stab him till his flesh be as a sieve; 95

That done, bear him behind the Abbey, 96

That those that find him murder'd may suppose 97

Some slave or other kill'd him for his gold. 98

ALICE.

A fine device! you shall have twenty pound, 99

And, when he is dead, you shall have forty more, 100

And, lest you might be suspected staying here, 101

Michael shall saddle you two lusty geldings; 102

Ride whither you will, to Scotland, or to Wales, 103

I'll see you shall not lack, where'er you be. 104

WILL.

Such words would make one kill a thousand men! 105

Give me the key; which is the counting-house? 106

ALICE.

Here would I stay and still encourage you, 107

But that I know how resolute you are. 108

SHAKEBAG.

Tush, you are too faint-hearted; we must do it.

ALICE.

But Mosbie will be there, whose very looks 110

Will add unwonted courage to my thought, 111

And make me the first that shall adventure on him. 112

WILL.

Tush, get you gone; 'tis we must do the deed. 113

When this door opens next, look for his death. 114

([Will and Shakebag withdraw.])

ALICE.

Ah, would he now were here that it might open! 115

I shall no more be clos'd in Arden's arms, 116

That like the snakes of black Tisiphone 117

Sting me with their embracings! Mosbie's arms 118

Shall compass me, and, were I made a star, 119

I would have none other spheres but those. 120

There is no nectar but in Mosbie's lips! 121

Had chaste Diana kiss'd him, she like me 122

Would grow love-sick, and from her watery bower 123

Fling down Endymion and snatch him up; 124

Then blame not me that slay a silly man 125

Not half so lovely as Endymion. 126

(Here enters MICHAEL.)

MICHAEL.

Mistress, my roaster is coming hard by. 127

ALICE.

Who comes with him? 128

MICHAEL.

Nobody but Mosbie. 129

ALICE.

That's well, Michael. Fetch in the tables, and when thou hast done, stand before the counting-house door.

MICHAEL.

Why so? 131

ALICE.

Black Will is lock'd within to do the deed. 132

MICHAEL.

What, shall he die to-night? 133

ALICE.

Ay, Michael. 134

MICHAEL.

But shall not Susan know it? 135

ALICE.

Yes, for she'll be as secret as ourselves. 136

MICHAEL.

That's brave. I'll go fetch the tables. 137

ALICE.

But, Michael, hark to me a word or two: 138

When my husband is come in, lock the street-door; 139

He shall be murder'd or the guests come in. 140

(Exit Michael.)

(Here enters ARDEN and MOSBIE [,MICHAEL following].)

Husband, what mean you to bring Mosbie home? 141

Although I wish'd you to be reconcil'd, 142

'Twas more for fear of you than love of him. 143

Black Will and Greene are his companions, 144

And they are cutters, and may cut you short: 145

Therefore I thought it good to make you friends. 146

But wherefore do you bring him hither now? 147

You have given me roy supper with his sight. 148

MOSBIE.

Master Arden, methinks your wife would have me gone. 149

ARDEN.

No, good Master Mosbie; women will be prating. 150

Alice, bid him welcome; he and I are friends. 151

ALICE.

You may enforce me to it, if you will; 152

But I had rather die than bid him welcome. 153

His company hath purchas'd me ill friends, 154

And therefore will I ne'er frequent it more. 155

MOSBIE.

Oh, how cunningly she can dissemble! 156

ARDEN.

Now he is here, you will not serve me so. 157

ALICE.

I pray you be not angry or displeas'd; 158

I'll bid him welcome, seeing you'll have it so. 159

You are welcome, Master Mosbie; will you sit down? 160

MOSBIE.

I know I am welcome to your loving husband; 161

But for yourself, you speak not from your heart. 162

ALICE.

And if I do not, sir, think I have cause. 163

MOSBIE.

Pardon me, Master Arden; I'll away. 164

ARDEN.

No, good Master Mosbie. 165

ALICE.

We shall have guests enough, though you go hence. 166

MOSBIE.

I pray you, Master Arden, let me go. 167

ARDEN.

I pray thee, Mosbie, let her prate her fill. 168

ALICE.

The doors are open, sir, you may be gone. 169

MICHAEL.

Nay, that's a lie, for I have lock'd the doors. 170

ARDEN.

Sirrah, fetch me a cup of wine, I'll make them friends. 171

And, gentle Mistress Alice, seeing you are so stout, 172

You shall begin. Frown not, I'll have it so. 173

ALICE.

I pray you meddle with that you have to do. 174

ARDEN.

Why, Alice! how can I do too much for him 175

Whose life I have endanger'd without cause? 176

ALICE.

'Tis true; and, seeing 'twas partly through my means, 177

I am content to drink to him for this once. 178

Here, Master Mosbie! and I pray you, henceforth 179

Be you as strange to me as I to you. 180

Your company hath purchas'd me ill friends, 181

And I for you, God knows, have undeserv'd 182

Been evil spoken of in every place; 183

Therefore henceforth frequent my house no more. 184

MOSBIE.

I'll see your husband in despite of you. 185

Yet, Arden, I protest to thee by heaven, 186

Thou ne'er shalt see me more after this night. 187

I'll go to Rome rather than be forsworn. 188

ARDEN.

Tush, I'll have no such vows made in my house. 189

ALICE.

Yes, I pray you, husband, let him swear; 190

And, on that condition, Mosbie, pledge me here. 191

MOSBIE.

Ay, as willingly as I mean to live. 192

ARDEN.

Come, Alice, is our supper ready yet? 193

ALICE.

It will by then you have play'd a game at tables. 194

ARDEN.

Come, Master Mosbie, what shall we play for? 195

MOSBIE.

Three games for a French crown, sir, and please you. 196

ARDEN.

Content. 197

(Then they play at the tables. [Will looks forth.])

WILL.

—-Can he not take him yet? what a spite is that! 198

ALICE.

—-Not yet, Will; take heed he see thee not. 199

WILL.

—-I fear he will spy me as I am coming. 200

MICHAEL.

—-To prevent that, creep betwixt my legs. 201

MOSBIE.

One ace, or else I lose the game. 202

ARDEN.

Marry, sir, there's two for failing. 203

MOSBIE.

Ah, Master Arden, "now I can take you." 204

(Then Will pulls him down with a towel.)

ARDEN.

Mosbie! Michael! Alice! what will you do? 205

WILL.

Nothing but take you up, sir, nothing else. 206

MOSBIE.

There's for the pressing iron you told me of. 207

([Stabs him.])

SHAKEBAG.

And there's for the ten pound in my sleeve. 208

([Stabs him.])

ALICE.

What, groans thou? nay, then give me the weapon! 209

Take this for hindering Mosbie's love and mine. 210

([Stabs him.])

MICHAEL.

O, mistress! 211

WILL.

Ah, that villain will betray us all. 212

MOSBIE.

Tush, fear him not; he will be secret. 213

MICHAEL.

Why, dost thou think I will betray myself? 214

SHAKEBAG.

In Southwark dwells a bonny northern lass, 215

The widow Chambley; I'll to her house now, 216

And if she will not give me harborough, 217

I'll make booty of the quean even to her smock. 218

WILL.

Shift for yourselves; we two will leave you now. 219

ALICE.

First lay the body in the counting-house. 220

(Then they lay the body in the counting-house.)

WILL.

We have our gold; Mistress Alice, adieu; 221

Exeunt. Mosbie, farewell, and Michael, farewell too. 222

(Enter SUSAN.)

SUSAN.

Mistress, the guests are at the doors. 223

Hearken, they knock: what, shall I let them in? 224

ALICE.

[Exit Mosbie. Mosbie, go thou and bear them company. 225

And, Susan, fetch water and wash away this blood. 226

SUSAN.

The blood cleaveth to the ground and will not out. 227

ALICE.

But with my nails I'll scrape away the blood.¬—- 228

The more I strive, the more the blood appears! 229

SUSAN.

What's the reason, Mistress, can you tell? 230

ALICE.

Because I blush not at my husband's death. 231

(Here enters MOSBIE.)

MOSBIE.

How now, what's the matter? is all well? 232

ALICE.

Ay, well, if Arden were alive again. 233

In vain we strive, for here his blood remains. 234

MOSBIE.

Why, strew rushes on it, can you not? 235

This wench doth nothing: fall unto the work. 236

ALICE.

'Twas thou that made me murder him. 237

MOSBIE.

What of that? 238

ALICE.

Nay, nothing, Mosbie, so it be not known. 239

MOSBIE.

Keep thou it close, and ’tis unpossible. 240

ALICE.

Ah, but I cannot! was he not slain by me? 241

My husband's death torments me at the heart. 242

MOSBIE.

It shall not long torment thee, gentle Alice; 243

I am thy husband, think no more of him. 244

(Here enters ADAM FOWLE and BRADSHAW.)

BRADSHAW.

How now, Mistress Arden? what ail you weep? 245

MOSBIE.

Because her husband is abroad so late. 246

A couple of ruffians threaten'd him yestemight, 247

And she, poor soul, is afraid he should be hurt. 248

ADAM.

Is't nothing else? tush, he'll be here anon. 249

(Here enters GREENE.)

GREENE.

Now, Mistress Arden, lack you any guests? 250

ALICE.

Ah, Master Greene, did you see my husband lately? 251

GREENE.

I saw him walking behind the Abbey even now. 252

(Here enters FRANKLIN.)

ALICE.

I do not like this being out so late. 253

Master Franklin, where did you leave my husband? 254

FRANKLIN.

Believe me I saw him not since morning. 255

Fear you not, he'll come anon; meantime 256

You may do well to bid his guests sit down. 257

ALICE.

Ay, so they shall; Master Bradshaw, sit you there; 258

I pray you, be content, I'll have my will. 259

Master Mosbie, sit you in my husband's seat. 260

MICHAEL.

—-Susan, shall thou and I wait on them? 261

Or, and thou say'st the word, let us sit down too. 262

SUSAN.

—-Peace, we have other matters now in hand. 263

I fear me, Michael, all will be bewray'd. 264

MICHAEL.

—-Tush, so it be known that I shall marry thee in the morning, I care not though I be hanged ere night. But to prevent the worst, I'll buy some ratsbane.

SUSAN.

—-Why, Michael, wilt thou poison thyself? 266

MICHAEL.

—-No, but my mistress, for I fear she'll tell. 267

SUSAN.

—-Tush, Michael, fear not her, she's wise enough. 268

MOSBIE.

Sirrah Michael, give's a cup of beer.—- 269

Mistress Arden, here's to your husband. 270

ALICE.

My husband! 271

FRANKLIN.

What ails you, woman, to cry so suddenly? 272

ALICE.

Ah, neighbours, a sudden qualm came over my heart; 273

My husband's being forth torments my mind. 274

I know something's amiss, he is not well; 275

Or else I should have heard of him ere now. 276

MOSBIE.

She will undo us through her foolishness. 277

GREENE.

Fear not, Mistress Arden, he's well enough. 278

ALICE.

Tell not me; I know he is not well: 279

He was not wont for to stay thus late. 280

Good Master Franklin, go and seek him forth, 281

And if you find him, send him home to me, 282

And tell him what a fear he hath put me in. 283

FRANKLIN.

I like not this; I pray God all be well.—- 284

I'll seek him out, and find him if I can. 285

(Exeunt Franklin, Mosbie, and Greene.)

ALICE.

-Michael, how shall I do to rid the rest away? 286

MICHAEL.

—-Leave that to my charge, let me alone.—-¬ 287

'Tis very late, Master Bradshaw, 288

And there are many false knaves abroad, 289

And you have many narrow lanes to pass. 290

BRADSHAW.

Faith, friend Michael, and thou sayest true. 291

Therefore I pray thee light's forth and lend's a link. 292

(Exeunt Bradshaw, Adam, and Michael.)

ALICE.

Michael, bring them to the doors, but do not stay; 293

You know I do not love to be alone. 294

Go, Susan, and bid thy brother come: 295

But wherefore should he come? Here is nought but fear; 296

Stay, Susan, stay, and help to counsel me. 297

SUSAN.

Alas, I counsel? fear frights away my wits. 298

(Then they open the counting-house door, and look upon Arden.)

ALICE.

See, Susan, where thy quondam master lies, 299

Sweet Arden, smear’d in blood and filthy gore. 300

SUSAN.

My brother, you, and I shall rue this deed. 301

ALICE.

Come, Susan, help to lift his body forth, 302

And let our salt tears be his obsequies. 303

(Here enters MOSBIE and GREENE.)

MOSBIE.

How now, Alice, whither will you bear him? 304

ALICE.

Sweet Mosbie, art thou come? Then weep that will: 305

I have my wish in that I joy thy sight. 306

GREENE.

Well, it 'hoves us to be circumspect. 307

MOSBIE.

Ay, for Franklin thinks that we have murder'd him. 308

ALICE.

Ay, but he cannot prove it for his life. 309

We'll spend this night in dalliance and in sport. 310

(Here enters MICHAEL.)

MICHAEL.

O mistress, the Mayor and all the watch 311

Are coming towards our house with glaives and bills. 312

ALICE.

Make the door fast; let them not come in. 313

MOSBIE.

Tell me, sweet Alice, how shall I escape? 314

ALICE.

Out at the back-door, over the pile of wood, 315

And for one night lie at the Flower-de-luce. 316

MOSBIE.

That is the next way to betray myself. 317

GREENE.

Alas, Mistress Arden, the watch will take me here, 318

And cause suspicion, where else would be none. 319

ALICE.

Why, take that way that Master Mosbie doth; 320

But first convey the body to the fields. 321

(Then they bear the body into the fields.)

MOSBIE.

Until to-morrow, sweet Alice, now farewell: 322

And see you confess nothing in any case. 323

GREENE.

Be resolute, Mistress Alice, betray us not, 324

But cleave to us as we will stick to you. 325

(Exeunt Mosbie and Greene.)

ALICE.

Now, let the judge and juries do their worst: 326

My house is clear, and now I fear them not. 327

SUSAN.

As we went, it snowèd all the way, 328

Which makes me fear our footsteps will be spied. 329

ALICE.

Peace, fool, the snow will cover them again. 330

SUSAN.

But it had done before we came back again. 331

ALICE.

Hark, hark, they knock! go, Michael, let them in. 332

(Here enters the MAYOR and the Watch.)

How now, Master Mayor, have you brought my husband home? 333

MAYOR.

I saw him come into your house an hour ago. 334

ALICE.

You are deceiv'd; it was a Londoner. 335

MAYOR.

Mistress Arden, know you not one that is call'd Black Will? 336

ALICE.

I know none such: what mean these questions? 337

MAYOR.

I have the Council's warrant to apprehend him. 338

ALICE.

I am glad it is no worse.—- 339

Why, Master Mayor, think you I harbour any such? 340

MAYOR.

We are inform'd that here he is; 341

And therefore pardon us, for we must search. 342

ALICE.

Ay, search, and spare you not, through every room: 343

Were my husband at home, you would not offer this. 344

(Here enters FRANKLIN.)

Master Franklin, what mean you come so sad? 345

FRANKLIN.

Arden, thy husband and my friend, is slain. 346

ALICE.

Ah, by whom? Master Franklin, can you tell? 347

FRANKLIN.

I know not; but behind the Abbey 348

There he lies murder'd in most piteous case. 349

MAYOR.

But, Master Franklin, are you sure 'tis he? 350

FRANKLIN.

I am too sure; would God I were deceiv'd. 351

ALICE.

Find out the murderers, let them be known. 352

FRANKLIN.

Ay, so they shall: come you along with us. 353

ALICE.

Wherefore? 354

FRANKLIN.

Know you this hand-towel and this knife? 355

SUSAN.

—-Ah, Michael, thorough this thy negligence 356

Thou hast betrayèd and undone us all. 357

MICHAEL.

—-I was so afraid I knew not what I did: 358

I thought I had thrown them both into the well. 359

ALICE.

It is the pig’s blood we had to supper. 360

But wherefore stay you? find out the murderers. 361

MAYOR.

I fear me you'll prove one of them yourself. 362

ALICE.

I one of them? what mean such questions? 363

FRANKLIN.

I fear me he was murder'd in this house 364

And carried to the fields; for from that place 365

Backwards and forwards may you see 366

The print of many feet within the snow. 367

And look about this chamber where we are, 368

And you shall find part of his guiltless blood; 369

For in his slipshoe did I find some rushes, 370

Which argueth he was murder'd in this room. 371

MAYOR.

Look in the place where he was wont to sit. 372

See, see, his blood! it is too manifest. 373

ALICE.

It is a cup of wine that Michael shed. 374

MICHAEL.

Ay, truly. 375

FRANKLIN.

It is his blood, which, strumpet, thou hast shed. 376

But if I live, thou and thy 'complices 377

Which have conspir'd and wrought his death shall rue it. 378

ALICE.

Ah, Master Franklin, God and heaven can tell 379

I lov'd him more than all the world beside. 380

But bring me to him, let me see his body. 381

FRANKLIN.

Bring that villain and Mosbie's sister too; 382

And one of you go to the Flower-de-luce, 383

Exeunt. And seek for Mosbie, and apprehend him too. 384

[SCENE XV]

(Here enters SHAKEBAG solus.)

SHAKEBAG.

The widow Chambley in her husband's days I kept; 1

And now he's dead, she is grown so stout 2

She will not know her old companions. 3

I came thither, thinking to have had 4

Harbour as I was wont, 5

And she was ready to thrust me out at doors; 6

But whether she would or no, I got me up, 7

And as she follow'd me, I spurn'd her down the stairs, 8

And broke her neck, and cut her tapster's throat, 9

And now I am going to fling them in the Thames. 10

I have the gold; what care I though it be known? 11

Exit Shakebag. I'll cross the water and take sanctuary. 12

[SCENE XVI]

(Here enters the MAYOR, MOSBIE, ALICE, FRANKLIN, MICHAEL, and SUSAN.)

MAYOR.

See, Mistress Arden, where your husband lies; 1

Confess this foul fault and be penitent. 2

ALICE.

Arden, sweet husband, what shall I say? 3

The more I sound his name, the more he bleeds; 4

This blood condemns me, and in gushing forth 5

Speaks as it falls, and asks me why I did it. 6

Forgive me, Arden: I repent me now, 7

And, would my death save thine, thou shouldst not die. 8

Rise up, sweet Arden, and enjoy thy love, 9

And frown not on me when we meet in heaven: 10

In heaven I'll love thee, though on earth I did not. 11

MAYOR.

Say, Mosbie, what made thee murder him? 12

FRANKLIN.

Study not for an answer; look not down; 13

His purse and girdle found at thy bed's head 14

Witness sufficiently thou didst the deed; 15

It bootless is to swear thou didst it not. 16

MOSBIE.

I hir'd Black Will and Shakebag, ruffians both, 17

And they and I have done this murderous deed. 18

But wherefore stay we? Come and bear me hence. 19

FRANKLIN.

Those ruffians shall not escape; I will up to London, 20

And get the Council's warrant to apprehend them. 21

(Exeunt.)

[SCENE XVII]

(Here enters WILL.)

WILL.

Shakebag, I hear, hath taken sanctuary, 1

But I am so pursued with hues and cries 2

For petty robberies that I have done, 3

That I can come unto no sanctuary. 4

Therefore must I in some oyster-boat 5

At last be fain to go aboard some hoy, 6

And so to Flushing. There is no staying here. 7

At Sittingburgh the watch was like to take me, 8

And had not I with my buckler cover'd my head, 9

And run full blank at all adventures, 10

I am sure I had ne'er gone further than that place; 11

For the constable had twenty warrants to apprehend me, 12

Besides that, I robb'd him and his man once at Gadshill. 13

Farewell, England; I'll to Flushing now. 14

(Exit Will.)

[SCENE XVIII]

(Here enters the MAYOR, MOSBIE, ALICE, MICHAEL, SUSAN, and BRADSHAW,)

MAYOR.

Come, make haste, and bring away the prisoners. 1

BRADSHAW.

Mistress Arden, you are now going to God, 2

And I am by the law condemn'd to die 3

About a letter I brought from Master Greene. 4

I pray you, Mistress Arden, speak the truth: 5

Was I ever privy to your intent or no? 6

ALICE.

What should I say? You brought me such a letter, 7

But I dare swear thou knew'st not the contents. 8

Leave now to trouble me with worldly things, 9

And let me meditate upon my saviour Christ, 10

Whose blood must save me for the blood I shed. 11

MOSBIE.

How long shall I live in this hell of grief? 12

Convey me from the presence of that strumpet. 13

ALICE.

Ah, but for thee I had never been [a] strumpet. 14

What cannot oaths and protestations do, 15

When men have opportunity to woo? 16

I was too young to sound thy villainies, 17

But now I find it and repent too late. 18

SUSAN.

Ah, gentle brother, wherefore should I die? 19

I knew not of it till the deed was done. 20

MOSBIE.

For thee I mourn more than for myself; 21

But let it suffice, I cannot save thee now. 22

MICHAEL.

And if your brother and my mistress 23

Had not promis'd me you in marriage, 24

I had ne'er given consent to this foul deed. 25

MAYOR.

Leave to accuse each other now, 26

And listen to the sentence I shall give. 27

Bear Mosbie and his sister to London straight, 28

Where they in Smithfield must be executed; 29

Bear Mistress Arden unto Canterbury, 30

Where her sentence is she must be burnt; 31

Michael and Bradshaw in Feversham must suffer death. 32

ALICE.

Let my death make amends for all my sins. 33

MOSBIE.

Fie upon women! this shall be my song; 34

But bear me hence, for I have liv'd too long. 35

SUSAN.

Seeing no hope on earth, in heaven is my hope. 36

MICHAEL.

Faith, I care not, seeing I die with Susan. 37

BRADSHAW.

My blood be on his head that gave the sentence. 38

MAYOR.

Exeunt. To speedy execution with them all! 39

[EPILOGUE.]

(Here enters FRANKLIN.)

FRANKLIN.

Thus have you seen the truth of Arden's death. 1

As for the ruffians, Shakebag and Black Will, 2

The one took sanctuary, and, being sent for out, 3

Was murderèd in Southwark as he pass'd 4

To Greenwich, where the Lord Protector lay. 5

Black Will was burn'd in Flushing on a stage; 6

Greene was hang'd at Osbridge in Kent; 7

The painter fled and how he died we know not. 8

But this above the rest is to be noted: 9

Arden lay murder'd in that plot of ground 10

Which he by force and violence held from Reede; 11

And in the grass his body's print was seen 12

Two years and more after the deed was done. 13

Gentlemen, we hope you'll pardon this naked tragedy, 14

Wherein no filèd points are foisted in 15

To make it gracious to the ear or eye; 16

For simple truth is gracious enough, 17

[Exit.] And needs no other points of glozing stuff. 18