Part 32

_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 pre-appointed meeting Of single combat with young Warbeck.

_Frank._ Ha!

_Sus._ Even so: dissemble not; ’tis 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 Winnifred! You’re not so kind, indeed, as I imagined.

_Frank._ [_Aside._] And you are more fond by far than I expected.-- 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._

[Illustration]

ACT THE THIRD.

## SCENE I.--_The Village Green._

_Enter_ CUDDY BANKS _with the ~Morris-dancers~._

First Clown. Nay, Cuddy, prithee do not leave us now; if we part all this night, we shall not meet before day.

_2nd 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 an 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?

_1st Cl._ No, no; no woman’s part but Maid Marian and the Hobby-horse.

_Cud._ I’ll have a witch; I love a witch.

_1st 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.

_2nd Cl._ I would she would dance her part with us.

_3rd 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.[431] Leave me, and get my horse dressed; give him oats: but water him not till I come. Whither do we foot it first?

[431] A children’s game, in which cherry-stones are pitched into a small hole. The suggestion was sometimes a less innocent one, however. Compare Herrick’s quatrain on “Cherry-pit.”

_2nd 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 hobby-horse there.

_1st Cl._ O, 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?

_1st Cl._ Not I.

_2nd Cl._ Nor I.

_Cud._ Go to, no more of that: when I understand what you speak, I know what you say; believe that.

_1st Cl._ Well, ’twas 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 Shrovetide?

_Cud._ Yes, I was ten days together there the last Shrovetide.

_2nd 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 farmer, that never sawest 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[432] there hard by. How dost thou think they rise in High Germany, Italy, and those remoter places?

[432] Thus Butler:

“The soldier does it every day, _Eight to the week_, for sixpence pay.”--_Gifford._

_3rd 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, “O,” 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, “O,” 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 caroche,[433] and be further off than when you set forth. But, I pray you, good morris-mates, now leave me. I will be with you by midnight.

[433] Coach, Fr. _Carrosse_.

_1st Cl._ Well, since he will be alone, we’ll back again and trouble him no more.

_All the Clowns._ But remember, Banks.

_Cud._ The hobby-horse shall be remembered. But hark you; get Poldavis, the barber’s boy, for the witch, because he can show his art better than another. [_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 the ~Dog~._

A water-dog! I am thy first man, sculler; I go with thee; ply no other but myself. Away with the boat! land me but at Katherine’s Dock, my sweet Katherine’s Dock, and I’ll be a fare to thee. That way? nay, which way thou wilt; thou knowest the way better than I:--fine gentle cur it is, and well brought up, I warrant him. We go a-ducking, spaniel; thou shalt fetch me the ducks, pretty kind rascal.

_Enter a ~Spirit~ vizarded. He throws off his mask, &c., and appears in the shape of_ KATHERINE.

_Spir._ Thus throw I off mine own essential horror, And take the shape of a sweet lovely maid Whom this fool dotes on: we can meet his folly, But from his virtues must be runaways. We’ll sport with him; but when we reckoning call, We know where to receive; the witch pays for all. [_The ~Dog~ barks._

_Cud._ Ay? is that the watchword? She’s come. [_Sees the ~Spirit~._] Well, if ever we be married, it shall be at Barking Church,[434] in memory of thee: now come behind, kind cur.

[434] Barking Church stood at the bottom of Seething Lane. It was destroyed in the great fire.--_Gifford._

And have I met thee, sweet Kate? I will teach thee to walk so late.

O, see, we meet in metre. [_The ~Spirit~ retires as he advances._] What! dost thou trip from me? O, that I were upon my hobby-horse, I would mount after thee so nimble! “Stay, nymph, stay, nymph,” singed Apollo.

Tarry and kiss me, sweet nymph, stay; Tarry and kiss me, sweet: We will to Chessum Street, And then to the house stands in the highway.

Nay, by your leave, I must embrace you. [_Exit, following the ~Spirit~._

[_Within._] O, help, help! I am drowned, I am drowned!

_Re-enter_ CUDDY _wet_.

_Dog._ Ha, ha, ha, ha!

_Cud._ This was an ill night to go a-wooing in; I find it now in Pond’s almanac: thinking to land at Katherine’s Dock, I was almost at Gravesend. I’ll never go to a wench in the dog-days again; yet ’tis cool enough.--Had you never a paw in this dog-trick? a mange take that black hide of yours! I’ll throw you in at Limehouse in some tanner’s pit or other.

_Dog._ Ha, ha, ha, ha!

_Cud._ How now! who’s that laughs at me? Hist to him! [_The ~Dog~ barks._]--Peace, peace! thou didst but thy kind neither; ’twas my own fault.

_Dog._ Take heed how thou trustest the devil another time.

_Cud._ How now! who’s that speaks? I hope you have not your reading tongue about you?

_Dog._ Yes, I can speak.

_Cud._ The devil you can! you have read Æsop’s fables, then; I have played one of your parts then,--the dog that catched at the shadow in the water. Pray you, let me catechise you a little; what might one call your name, dog?

_Dog._ My dame calls me Tom.

_Cud._ ’Tis well, and she may call me Ass; so there’s an whole one betwixt us, Tom-Ass: she said I should follow you, indeed. Well, Tom, give me thy fist, we are friends; you shall be mine ingle:[435] I love you; but I pray you let’s have no more of these ducking devices.

[435] Crony, friend.

_Dog._ Not, if you love me. Dogs love where they are beloved; cherish me, and I’ll do anything for thee.

_Cud._ Well, you shall have jowls and livers; I have butchers to my friends that shall bestow ’em: and I will keep crusts and bones for you, if you’ll be a kind dog, Tom.

_Dog._ Any thing; I’ll help thee to thy love.

_Cud._ Wilt thou? that promise shall cost me a brown loaf, though I steal it out of my father’s cupboard: you’ll eat stolen goods, Tom, will you not?

_Dog._ O, best of all; the sweetest bits those.

_Cud._ You shall not starve, Ningle[436] Tom, believe that: if you love fish, I’ll help you to maids and soles; I’m acquainted with a fishmonger.

[436] Abbreviation for “Mine ingle,” as above.

_Dog._ Maids and soles? O, sweet bits! banqueting stuff those.

_Cud._ One thing I would request you, ningle, as you have played the knavish cur with me a little, that you would mingle amongst our morris-dancers in the morning. You can dance?

_Dog._ Yes, yes, any thing; I’ll be there, but unseen to any but thyself. Get thee gone before; fear not my presence. I have work to-night; I serve more masters, more dames than one.

_Cud._ He can serve Mammon and the devil too.

_Dog._ It shall concern thee and thy love’s purchase. There is a gallant rival loves the maid, And likely is to have her. Mark what a mischief, Before the morris ends, shall light on him!

_Cud._ O, sweet ningle, thy neuf[437] once again; friends must part for a time. Farewell, with this remembrance; shalt have bread too when we meet again. If ever there were an honest devil, ’twill be the Devil of Edmonton,[438] I see. Farewell, Tom; I prithee dog me as soon as thou canst. [_Exit._

[437] Or “neif,” _i.e._ fist.

[438] The allusion is to Master Peter Fabel, who, as the prologue to the old comedy says, “was called, for his sleights and his magic, “The merry Devil of Edmonton.”--_Gifford._

_Dog._ I’ll not miss thee, and be merry with thee. Those that are joys denied must take delight In sins and mischiefs; ’tis the devil’s right. [_Exit._

[Illustration]

## SCENE II.--_The neighbourhood of Edmonton._

_Enter_ FRANK THORNEY _and_ WINNIFRED _in boy’s clothes_.

_Frank._ Prithee no more! those tears give nourishment To weeds and briers in me, which shortly will O’ergrow and top my head; my shame will sit And cover all that can be seen of me.

_Win._ I have not shown this cheek in company; Pardon me now: thus singled with yourself, It calls a thousand sorrows round about, Some going before, and some on either side, But infinite behind; all chained together: Your second adulterous marriage leads; That is the sad eclipse, th’ effects must follow, As plagues of shame, spite, scorn, and obloquy.

_Frank._ Why, hast thou not left one hour’s patience To add to all the rest? one hour bears us Beyond the reach of all these enemies: Are we not now set forward in the flight, Provided with the dowry of my sin[439] To keep us in some other nation? While we together are, we are at home In any place.

[439] Frank alludes to the marriage portion which he had just received with Susan.--_Gifford._

_Win._ ’Tis foul ill-gotten coin, Far worse than usury or extortion.

_Frank._ Let My father, then, make the restitution, Who forced me to take the bribe: it is his gift And patrimony to me; so I receive it. He would not bless, nor look a father on me, Until I satisfied his angry will: When I was sold, I sold myself again-- Some knaves have done’t in lands, and I in body-- For money, and I have the hire. But, sweet, no more, ’Tis hazard of discovery, our discourse; And then prevention takes off all our hopes: For only but to take her leave of me My wife is coming.

_Win._ Who coming? your wife!

_Frank._ No, no; thou art here: the woman--I knew Not how to call her now; but after this day She shall be quite forgot and have no name In my remembrance. See, see! she’s come.

_Enter_ SUSAN.

Go lead The horses to th’ hill’s top; there I’ll meet thee.

_Sus._ Nay, with your favour let him stay a little; I would part with him too, because he is Your sole companion; and I’ll begin with him, Reserving you the last.

_Frank._ Ay, with all my heart.

_Sus._ You may hear, if’t please you, sir.

_Frank._ No, ’tis not fit: Some rudiments, I conceive, they must be, To overlook my slippery footings: and so--

_Sus._ No, indeed, sir.

_Frank._ Tush, I know it must be so, And it is necessary: on! but be brief. [_Walks forward._

_Win._ What charge soe’er you lay upon me, mistress, I shall support it faithfully--being honest-- To my best strength.

_Sus._ Believe’t shall be no other. I know you were commended to my husband By a noble knight.

_Win._ O, gods! O, mine eyes!

_Sus._ How now! what ail’st thou, lad?

_Win._ Something hit mine eye,--it makes it water still,-- Even as you said “commended to my husband.”-- Some dor[440] I think it was.--I was, forsooth, Commended to him by Sir Arthur Clarington.

[440] Cockchafer, beetle.

_Sus._ Whose servant once my Thorney was himself. That title, methinks, should make you almost fellows; Or at the least much more than a servant; And I am sure he will respect you so. Your love to him, then, needs no spur from me, And what for my sake you will ever do, ’Tis fit it should be bought with something more Than fair entreats; look! here’s a jewel for thee, A pretty wanton label for thine ear; And I would have it hang there, still to whisper These words to thee, “Thou hast my jewel with thee.” It is but earnest of a larger bounty, When thou return’st with praises of thy service, Which I am confident thou wilt deserve. Why, thou art many now besides thyself: Thou mayst be servant, friend, and wife to him; A good wife is them all. A friend can play The wife and servant’s part, and shift enough; No less the servant can the friend and wife: ’Tis all but sweet society, good counsel, Interchanged loves, yes, and counsel-keeping.

_Frank._ Not done yet?

_Sus._ Even now, sir.

_Win._ Mistress, believe my vow; your severe eye, Were’t present to command, your bounteous hand, Were it then by to buy or bribe my service, Shall not make me more dear or near unto him Than I shall voluntary. I’ll be all your charge, Servant, friend, wife to him.

_Sus._ Wilt thou? Now blessings go with thee for’t! courtesies Shall meet thee coming home.

_Win._ Pray you say plainly, Mistress, are you jealous of him? if you be, I’ll look to him that way too.

_Sus._ Say’st thou so? I would thou hadst a woman’s bosom now; We have weak thoughts within us. Alas, There’s nothing so strong in us as suspicion; But I dare not, nay, I will not think So hardly of my Thorney.

_Win._ Believe it, mistress, I’ll be no pander to him; and if I find Any loose lubric scapes in him, I’ll watch him, And at my return protest I’ll show you all: He shall hardly offend without my knowledge.

_Sus._ Thine own diligence is that I press, And not the curious eye over his faults. Farewell: if I should never see thee more, Take it for ever.

_Frank._ Prithee take that along with thee, [_Handing his sword to_ WINNIFRED.] and haste thee To the hill’s top; I’ll be there instantly.

_Sus._ No haste, I prithee; slowly as thou canst-- [_Exit_ WINNIFRED. Pray let him obey me now; ’tis happily His last service to me: my power is e’en A-going out of sight.

_Frank._ Why would you delay? We have no other business now but to part.

_Sus._ And will not that, sweetheart, ask a long time? Methinks it is the hardest piece of work That e’er I took in hand.

_Frank._ Fie, fie! why, look, I’ll make it plain and easy to you--farewell! [_Kisses her._

_Sus._ Ah, ’las, I’m not half perfect in it yet; I must have it read o’er an hundred times: Pray you take some pains; I confess my dulness.

_Frank._ [_Aside._] What a thorn this rose grows on! Parting were sweet; But what a trouble ’twill be to obtain it!-- Come, again and again, farewell!--[_Kisses her._] Yet wilt return? All questions of my journey, my stay, employment, And revisitation, fully I have answered all; There’s nothing now behind but--nothing.

_Sus._ And That _nothing_ is more hard than anything, Than all the everythings. This request--

_Frank._ What is’t?

_Sus._ That I may bring you through one pasture more Up to yon knot of trees; amongst those shadows I’ll vanish from you, they shall teach me how.

_Frank._ Why, ’tis granted; come, walk, then.

_Sus._ Nay, not too fast: They say slow things have best perfection; The gentle shower wets to fertility, The churlish storm may mischief with his bounty; The baser beasts take strength even from the womb, But the lord lion’s whelp is feeble long. [_Exeunt._

[Illustration]

## SCENE III.--_A Field with a clump of trees._

_Enter the ~Dog~._

_Dog._ Now for an early mischief and a sudden! The mind’s about it now; one touch from me Soon sets the body forward.

_Enter_ FRANK _and_ SUSAN.

_Frank._ Your request Is out; yet will you leave me?

_Sus._ What? so churlishly? You’ll make me stay for ever, Rather than part with such a sound from you.

_Frank._ Why, you almost anger me. Pray you be gone. You have no company, and ’tis very early; Some hurt may betide you homewards.

_Sus._ Tush! I fear none; To leave you is the greatest hurt I can suffer: Besides, I expect your father and mine own To meet me back, or overtake me with you; They began to stir when I came after you I know they’ll not be long.

_Frank._ So! I shall have more trouble,--[_The ~Dog~ rubs against him_]--thank you for that:[441] [_Aside._] Then I’ll ease all at once. It is done now; What I ne’er thought on.--You shall not go back.

[441] The dog is of course supposed invisible. Frank thanks Susan for telling him of the threatened arrival of Carter and Old Thorney which would lead to discovery.

_Sus._ Why, shall I go along with thee? sweet music!

_Frank._ No, to a better place.

_Sus._ Any place I; I’m there at home where thou pleasest to have me.

_Frank._ At home? I’ll leave you in your last lodging; I must kill you.

_Sus._ O, fine! you’d fright me from you.

_Frank._ You see I had no purpose; I’m unarmed; ’Tis this minute’s decree, and it must be: Look, this will serve your turn. [_Draws a knife._

_Sus._ I’ll not turn from it, If you be earnest, sir; yet you may tell me Wherefore you’ll kill me.

_Frank._ Because you are a whore.

_Sus._ There’s one deep wound already; a whore! ’Twas ever further from me than the thought Of this black hour; a whore?

_Frank._ Yes, I’ll prove it, And you shall confess it. You are my whore. No wife of mine; the word admits no second. I was before wedded to another; have her still. I do not lay the sin unto your charge, ’Tis all mine own: your marriage was my theft, For I espoused your dowry, and I have it. I did not purpose to have added murder; The devil did not prompt me till this minute: You might have safe returned; now you cannot. You have dogged your own death. [_Stabs her._

_Sus._ And I deserve it; I’m glad my fate was so intelligent: ’Twas some good spirit’s motion. Die? O, ’twas time! How many years might I have slept in sin, The sin of my most hatred, too, adultery!

_Frank._ Nay, sure, ’twas likely that the most was past; For I meant never to return to you After this parting.

_Sus._ Why, then, I thank you more; You have done lovingly, leaving yourself, That you would thus bestow me on another. Thou art my husband, Death, and I embrace thee With all the love I have. Forget the stain Of my unwitting sin; and then I come A crystal virgin to thee: my soul’s purity Shall with bold wings ascend the doors of Mercy; For Innocence is ever her companion.

_Frank._ Not yet mortal? I would not linger you, Or leave you a tongue to blab. [_Stabs her again._

_Sus._ Now Heaven reward you ne’er the worse for me! I did not think that Death had been so sweet, Nor I so apt to love him. I could ne’er die better, Had I stayed forty years for preparation; For I’m in charity with all the world. Let me for once be thine example, Heaven; Do to this man as I him free forgive, And may he better die and better live. [_Dies._

_Frank._ ’Tis done; and I am in! Once past our height, We scorn the deep’st abyss. This follows now, To heal her wounds by dressing of the weapon.[442] Arms, thighs, hands, any place; we must not fail [_Wounds himself._ Light scratches, giving such deep ones: the best I can To bind myself to this tree. Now’s the storm, Which if blown o’er, many fair days may follow.

[442] An allusion to an old superstition in which the idea was that wounds were healed by the turning of the assailant’s weapon against himself so as to cover it with his blood.

[_Binds himself to a tree; the ~Dog~ ties him behind and exit._

So, so, I’m fast; I did not think I could Have done so well behind me. How prosperous And effectual mischief sometimes is!--[_Aloud_] Help! help! Murder, murder, murder!

_Enter_ CARTER _and_ OLD THORNEY.

_Car._ Ha! whom tolls the bell for?

_Frank._ O, O!

_O. Thor._ Ah me! The cause appears too soon; my child, my son!

_Car._ Susan, girl, child! not speak to thy father? ha!

_Frank._ O, lend me some assistance to o’ertake This hapless woman.

_O. Thor._ Let’s o’ertake the murderers. Speak whilst thou canst, anon may be too late; I fear thou hast death’s mark upon thee too.

_Frank._ I know them both; yet such an oath is passed As pulls damnation up if it be broke. I dare not name ’em: think what forced men do.

_O. Thor._ Keep oath with murderers! that were a conscience To hold the devil in.

_Frank._ Nay, sir, I can describe ’em, Shall show them as familiar as their names: The taller of the two at this time wears His satin doublet white, but crimson-lined, Hose of black satin, cloak of scarlet--

_O. Thor._ Warbeck, Warbeck, Warbeck!--do you list to this, sir?

_Car._ Yes, yes, I listen you; here’s nothing to be heard.

_Frank._ Th’ other’s cloak branched[443] velvet, black, velvet-lined his suit.

[443] _i.e._ Adorned with tufts, or tassels, dependent from the shoulders.--_Gifford._

_O. Thor._ I have ’em already; Somerton, Somerton! Binal revenge all this. Come, sir, the first work Is to pursue the murderers, when we have Removed these mangled bodies hence.