My tenants by shall furnish thee with wains To carry all thy stuff within two hours; No longer will I limit thee my sight. Chuse which of all my servants thou lik'st best, And they are thine to attend thee. Mrs. Fra. A mild sentence. Fran. But as thou hop'st for heaven, as thou believ'st I charge thee never after this sad day Mrs. Fra. How full my heart is, in mine eyes appears; Fran. Come, take your coach, your stuff; all must along: Servants and all make ready, all be gone. It was thy hand cut two hearts out of one.1 CRANWEL, FRANKFORD, and NICHOLAS, a Servant. Cran. Why do you search each room about your house, Now that you have despatch'd your wife away? Fran. Ŏ sir, to see that nothing may be left That ever was my wife's: I lov'd her dearly, And when I do but think of her unkindness, My thoughts are all in hell; to avoid which torment, I would not have a bodkin nor a cuff, A bracelet, necklace, or rebato wire, Nor anything that ever was call'd her's, Nic. Here's her lute flung in a corner. Fran. Her lute? Oh God! upon this instrument Her fingers have ran quick division, Swifter than that which now divides our hearts. Post with it after her; now nothing's left; Of her and her's I am at once bereft.1 NICHOLAS overtakes Mrs. FRANKFORD on her journey, and delivers the Lute. Mrs. Fra. I know the lute; oft have I sung to thee: We both are out of tune, both out of time. Nic. My master commends him unto ye; He prays you to forget him, and so he bids you farewell. I dare not so presume; nor to my children: I am disclaim'd in both, alas! I am. O never teach them, when they come to speak, If they by chance light on that hated word; Tell them 'tis naught, for when that word they name (Poor pretty souls!) they harp on their own shame." So, now unto my coach, then to my home, So to my death-bed; for from this sad hour, I never will nor eat, nor drink, nor taste Of any cates that may preserve my life: I never will nor smile, nor sleep, nor rest. But when my tears have wash'd my black soul white, [A line omitted.] [Five lines.] [Ten lines.] [Three lines.] [Nine lines.] [Twenty-four lines omitted.] Mrs. FRANKFORD (dying). Sir FRANCIS ACTON (her brother). Sir CHARLES MOUNTFORD, Mr. MALBY, and other of her husband's friends. Mal. How fare you, mrs. Frankford? Mrs. Fra. Sick, sick, O sick: give me some air. I pray Tell me, O tell me, where is mr. Frankford. Will he not deign to see me ere I die? Mal. Yes, mrs. Frankford: divers gentlemen He And sure he will be here immediately. Mrs. Fra. You have half reviv'd me with the pleasing news: Raise me a little higher in my bed. Blush I not, brother Acton? blush I not, sir Charles? Can you not read my fault writ in my cheek? Is not my crime there? tell me, gentlemen. Char. Alas! good mistress, sickness hath not left you Blood in your face enough to make you blush. Is Mrs. Fra. Then sickness, like a friend, my fault would hide. my husband come? my soul but tarries His arrival, then I am fit for heaven. words of hate Acton. I came to chide you, but my Mr. FRANKFORD enters. Fran. Good-morrow, brother; morrow, gentlemen: Might (had he pleas'd) have made our cause of meeting But he that made us, made us to this woe. Mrs. Fra. And is he come? methinks that voice I know. Mrs. Fra. Well, mr. Frankford, well; but shall be better (Out of your grace and your humanity) To take a spotted strumpet by the hand? Fran. This hand once held my heart in faster bonds Mrs. Fra. Amen, amen. Out of my zeal to heaven, whither I'm now bound, And once more beg your pardon. Oh! good man, Pardon, O pardon me: my fault so heinous is, As my Redeemer hath for us given his death, I pardon thee; I will shed tears for thee; And, in mere pity of thy weak estate, I'll wish to die with thee. All. So do we all. Fran. Even as I hope for pardon at that day, Char. Then comfort, mistress Frankford; Acton. How d'ye feel yourself? Mrs. Fra. Not of this world. Fran. I see you are not, and I weep to see it. Mrs. Fra. Pardon'd on earth, soul, thou in heaven art free Once more. Thy wife dies thus embracing thee.1 [Heywood's Works, ed. Pearson.] Heywood is a sort of prose Shakspeare. His scenes are to the full as natural and affecting. But we miss the Poet, that which in Shakspeare always appears out and above the surface of the nature. Heywood's characters, his Country Gentlemen, etc., are exactly what we see (but of the best kind of what we see) in life. Shakspeare makes us believe, while we are among his lovely creations, that they are nothing but what we are familiar with, as in dreams new things seem old: but we awake, and sigh for the difference.1 THE ENGLISH TRAVELLER [PUBLISHED 1633]. Young Geraldine comes home from his Travels, and finds his Playfellow, that should have been his Wife, married to old Wincott. The old Gentleman receives him hospitably as a Friend of his Father's; takes delight to hear him tell of his Travels, and treats him in all respects like a second Father; his House being always open to him. Young Geraldine and the Wife agree not to wrong the old Gentleman. WIFE. GERALDINE. Ger. We now are left alone. Wife. Why, say we be; who should be jealous of us? This is not first of many hundred nights, That we two have been private, from the first Of our acquaintance; when our tongues but clipt Increased our sweet society. Since your travel, And you as welcome to it. Ger. I must confess, It is in you, your noble courtesy ; In him, a more than common confidence, To injure such a husband. Ger. You deserve, [See also Lamb's note on page 419.] |