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woman

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 ; 't was told me by a
Known and approved in palmistry,
I should have two wives.

Sus. Two wives ! sir, I take it
Exceedingly 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.

(Aside. 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.

Frank. Never any
Equal to thee in goodness.

Sus. Sir, I could wish I were much better for you;
Yet if I knew your fate
Ordain'd

you

for another, I could wish (So well I love you and your hopeful pleasure) Me in my grave, and my poor virtues added To my successor.

Frank. Prithee, prithee, talk not

Of death or graves thou art so rare a goodness ;
As Death would rather put itself to death,
Than murder thee; but we, as all things else,
Are mutable and changing.

Sus. Yet you still move
In your first sphere of discontent. Sweet, chase
Those clouds of sorrow, and shine clearly on me.

Frank. At my return I will.

Sus. Return ? ah me!
Will you then leave me?

Frank. For a time I must:
But how? as birds their young, or loving bees
Their hives, to fetch home richer dainties.

Sus. Leave me !
Now has my fear met its effect. You shall not,
Cost it my life, you shall not.

Frank. Why? your reason ?

Sus. Like to the lapwing have you all this while, With your false love, deluded me; pretending Counterfeit senses for your discontent! And now at last it is by chance stole from you.

Frank. What? what by chance ?

Sus. Your preappointed meeting
Of single combat with young Warbeck.

Frank. Ha !

Sus. Even so: dissemble not; 't is too apparent.
Then in his look, I read it :-deny it not,
I see't apparent; cost it my undoing,
And unto that my life, I will not leave you.

Frank. Not until when ?
Sus. Till he and you be friends.
Was this your cunning ?—and then flam me off
With an old witch, two wives, and Winnifrede!
You are not so kind indeed as I imagined.
I Like to the lapwing, &c.]

The lapwing hath a piteous, mournful cry,
And sings a sorrowful and heavy song.
But yet she's full of craft and subtlety,
And weepeth most being farthest from her young.

SHAKSPEARE'S Phoenix and Turtle.--GIFTORD

Frank. And you more fond by far than I expected.

(Aside.
It is a virtue that attends thy kind-
But of our business within :-and by this kiss,
I'll anger thee no more ; 'troth, chuck, I will not.

Sus. You shall have no just cause.
Frank. Dear Sue, I shall not.

[Exeunt.

[blocks in formation]

Enter Cuddy BANKS, with the Morris-dancers. i Clown. Nay, Cuddy, prithee do not leave us now; if we part all this night, we shall not meet before day.

2 Cl. I prithee, Banks, let's keep together now.

Cud. If you were wise, a word would serve ; but as you are, I must be forced to tell you again, I have a little private business, an hour's work; it may prove but a half-hour's, as luck may serve; and then I take horse, and along with you. Have we e'er a witch in the morris?

1 Cl. No, no; no woman's part but Maid Marian,' and the hobby-horse.

I Though the morris-dances were, as their name denotes, or Moorish origin, yet they were commonly adapted here to the popular English story of Robin Hood, and his love for Lord Fitzwalter's daughter, the chaste Matilda. The change of name adopted by this fair lady is thus accounted for in Heywood's play of “Robert Earl of Huntingdon's Downfall."

Next 't is agreed (if thereto she agree)
The fair Matilda henceforth change her name;
And while it is the chance of Robin Hoode
To live in Sherewood, a poor outlawe's life,

She by Maid Marian's name be only callid.
To which she replies :

I am contented; road on Little John,

Henceforth let me be nam'd Maid Marian. For further information the reader is referred to Archdeacon Nares's Glossary, under the word MARIAN.

1

!

Cud. I'll have a witch; I love a witch.

i Cl. 'Faith, witches themselves are so common now-a-days, that the counterfeit will not be regarded. They say we have three or four in Edmonton, besides mother Sawyer.

2 Cl. I would she would dance her part with us. 3 Cl. So would not I; for if she comes, the Devil and all comes along with her.

Cud. Well, I'll have a witch; I have loved a witch ever since I played at cherry-pit. Leave me, and get my horse dress'd; give him oats; but water him not till I come. Whither do we foot it first?

2 Cl. To Sir Arthur Clarington's first; then whither thou wilt.

Cud. Well, I am content; but we must up to Carter's, the rich yeoman; I must be seen on hobbyhorse there.

1 Cl. Oh, I smell him now !-I'll lay my ears Banks is in love, and that 's the reason he would walk 'melancholy by himself.

Cud. Ha! who was that said I was in love? 1 Cl. Not I. 2 Cl. Nor I. Cud. Go to, no more of that; when I understand what you speak, I know what you say; believe that.

i Ci. Well, 't was I, I'll not deny it; I meant no hurt in't; I have seen you walk up to Carter's of Chessum: Banks, were not you there last Shrove, tide ?

Cud. Yes, I was ten days together there the last Shrove-tide.

2 Cl. How could that be, when there are but seven days in the week ?

Cud. Prithee peace! I reckon stila nova, as a traveller; thou understandest as a fresh-water far

1 See note, p. 204

2 A puerile game, which consisted of pitching cherry-stones into a small hole, as is still practised with leaden counters called dumps, or with mouey.--Nares's Glossary.

Vol. II.-16

mer, that never saw'st a week beyond sea. Ask any soldier that ever received his pay but in the Low Countries, and he 'll tell thee there are eight' days in the week there, hard by. How dost thou think they rise in High Germany, Italy, and those remoter places ?

3 Cl. Ay, but simply there are but seven days in the week yet.

Cud. No, simply as thou understandest. Prithee look but in the lover's almanac; when he has been but three days absent, “ Oh," says he, “ I have not seen my love these seven years :" there's a long cut! When he comes to her again and embraces her, “ Oh," says he, “now methinks I am in heaven;" and that's a pretty step! he that can get up to heaven in ten days, need not repent his journey ; you may ride a hundred days in a caroch, and be farther off than when you set forth. But I pray you, good morrismates, now leave me. I will be with you by midnight.

i Cl. Well, since he will be alone, we 'll back again, and trouble him no more. All. But remember, Banks. Cud. The hobby-horse shall be remembered.

[Exeunt all but Cuddy. Well, now to my walk. I am near the place where I should meet-I know not what: say I meet a thief? I must follow him, if to the gallows; say I meet a horse, or hare, or hound? still I must follow: some slow-paced beast, I hope; yet love is full of lightness in the heaviest lovers. Ha! my guide is

come.

Enter Dog.
A water-dog! I am thy first man, sculler; I go with
thee; ply no other but myself. Away with the boat!
Ask any soldier, &c.] Thus Butler :

“ The soldier does it every day,
Eight to the week, for sixpence pay."--GITTORD.

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