War. And can you blame me, sir?

Car. Nor you me justly. Wedding and hanging are tied up both in a proverb; and destiny is the juggler that unties the knot: my hope is, you are reserved to a richer fortune than my poor daugh

ter.

War. However, your promise

Car. Is a kind of debt, I confess it.
War. Which honest men should pay.

Car. Yet some gentlemen break in that point, now and then, by your leave, sir.

Som. I confess thou hast had a little wrong in the wench; but patience is the only salve to cure it. Since Thorney has won the wench, he has most reason to wear her.

War. Love in this kind admits no reason to wear

her.

Car. Then Love's a fool, and what wise man will take exception?

Som. Come, frolick, Ned! were every man master of his own fortune, Fate might pick straws, and Destiny go a wool-gathering.

War. You hold your's in a string though: 'tis well; but if there be any equity, look thou to meet the like usage ere long.

Som. In my love to her sister Katherine? Indeed, they are a pair of arrows drawn out of one quiver, and should fly at an even length; if she do run after her sister,

War. Look for the same mercy at my hands, as I have received at thine.

Som. She'll keep a surer compass; * I have too strong a confidence to mistrust her.

She'll keep a surer compass.] The metaphor is still from

Enter FRANK THORNEY and SUSAN.

But see, the bridegroom and bride come;
Good-morrow, master bridegroom.

War. Come, give thee joy: may'st thou live long and happy

In thy fair choice!

Frank. I thank ye, gentlemen; kind master Warbeck,

I find you loving.

War. Thorney, that creature,-(much good do thee with her!)

Virtue and beauty hold fair mixture in her;
She's rich, no doubt, in both; yet were she fairer,
Thou art right worthy of her: love her, Thorney,
'Tis nobleness in thee, in her but duty.
The match is fair and equal, the success

I leave to* censure; farewell, mistress bride!

Som. Good master Thorney

[Exit.

Car. Nay, you shall not part till you see the barrels run a-tilt, gentlemen.

[Exit with SOMERTON.

Sus. Why change you your face, sweetheart?
Frank. Who, I? for nothing.

Sus. Dear, say not so; a spirit of your constancy

Cannot endure this change for nothing.

I have observ'd strange variations in you.

archery. Arrows shot compass-wise, that is, with a certain elevation, were generally considered as going more steadily to the mark.-GIFFORD.

* i.e. opinion.

Frank. In me?

Sus. In you, sir.

Awake, you seem to dream, and in your sleep
You utter sudden and distracted accents,
Like one at enmity with peace.

Dear loving husband, if I

May dare to challenge any interest in you,
Give me the reason fully; you may trust
My breast as safely as your own.

Frank. With what?

You half amaze me; prithee

Sus. Come, you shall not,

Indeed you shall not shut me from partaking

The least dislike that grieves you;

Frank. And I all thine.

Sus. You are not, if you keep

I am

all your's.

The least grief from me; but I find the cause,
It grew from me.

Frank. From you?

Sus. From some distaste

In me or my behaviour: you are not kind
In the concealment. 'Las, sir, I am young,
Silly and plain; more, strange to those contents
A wife should offer: say but in what I fail,
I'll study satisfaction.

Frank. Come; in nothing.

Sus. I know I do; knew I as well in what,
You should not long be sullen. Prithee, love,
If I have been immodest or too bold,
Speak't in a frown; if peevishly too nice,
Show't in a smile: thy liking is the glass
By which I'll habit my behaviour.
Frank. Wherefore

Dost weep now?

Sus. You, sweet, have the power

To make me passionate as an April-day ;*

Now smile, then weep; now pale, then crimson red:

You are the powerful moon of my blood's sea,
To make it ebb or flow into my face,

As your looks change.

Frank. Change thy conceit, I prithee; Thou art all perfection: Diana herself

Swells in thy thoughts, and moderates thy beauty. Within thy left eye amorous Cupid sits

Feathering love-shafts, whose golden heads he dipp'd

In thy chaste breast; in the other lies
Blushing Adonis scarf'd in modesties;
And still as wanton Cupid blows love-fires,
Adonis quenches out unchaste desires:
And from these two I briefly do imply
A perfect emblem of thy modesty.

Then, prithee dear, maintain no more dispute,
For where thou speak'st, it's fit all tongues be

mute.

Sus. Come, come, these golden strings of flat

tery

Shall not tie up my speech, sir; I must know
The ground of your disturbance.

Frank. Then look here;

* Passionate as an April-day.]i. e. changeful, capricious, of many moods.-GIFFORD.

+ The florid and overstrained nature of Frank's language, which is evidently assumed, to disguise his real feelings, is well contrasted with the pure and affectionate simplicity of Susan.-GIFFORD.

For here, here is the fen in which this hydra
Of discontent grows rank.

Sus. Heaven shield it! where?

Frank. In mine own bosom, here the cause has root;

The poison'd leeches twist about my heart,
And will, I hope, confound me.

Sus. You speak riddles.

Frank. Take't plainly then; 'twas told me by a

woman

Known and approved in palmistry,
I should have two wives.

Sus. Two wives? sir, I take it

Exceeding likely; but let not conceit hurt you: You are afraid to bury me?

Frank. No, no, my Winnifrede.

Sus. How say you? Winnifrede! you forget

me.

Frank. No, I forget myself, Susan.
Sus. In what?

Frank. Talking of wives, I pretend Winnifrede, A maid that at my mother's waited on me

Before thyself.

Sus. I hope, sir, she may live

To take my place; but why should all this move you?

Frank. The poor girl,-she has't before thee, And that's the fiend torments me.

Sus. Yet why should this

Raise mutiny within you? such presages

Prove often false: or say it should be true?
Frank. That I should have another wife?
Sus. Yes, many;

If they be good, the better.

[Aside.