Part 3

I. i. 314. ‘Then Mosby having at his girdle a pressing iron of 14 pound weight stroke him on the head with the same so that he fell down and gave a great groan.’--Holinshed. Cf V. i. 241.

I. i. 323. _Velvet drudge_: an allusion to Mosbie’s tailoring.

I. i. 426. _Populous_: ‘perhaps used in the sense of _thick_, _compact_.’--Bullen. Webster quotes this passage and explains, ‘suitable to common people: hence common, inferior, vulgar.’ Delius proposes _palpable_.

I. i. 466. _His in state_, _i.e._ ‘his legally.’

I. i. 472. Cf. ‘To wring the widow from her customed right.’--2 _Henry VI._, V. i. 188.

I. i. 537. Tyrrell begins Act II. here.

I. i. 546. ‘The gentleman is not in your books.’--_Much Ado_, I. i. 79.

I. i. 548. _make a gree_, come to an agreement. _Agree_ was used adverbially for _at gree_.

ACT II

SCENE I

_Country between Feversham and London._

_Enter Greene and Bradshaw._

_Bradshaw._ See you them that comes yonder, Master Greene?

_Greene._ Ay, very well: do you know them?

_Here enters Black Will and Shakebag._

_Bradshaw._ The one I know not, but he seems a knave Chiefly for bearing the other company; For such a slave, so vile a rogue as he, Lives not again upon the earth. Black Will is his name. I tell you, Master Greene, At Boulogne he and I were fellow-soldiers, Where he played such pranks As all the camp feared him for his villainy 10 I warrant you he bears so bad a mind That for a crown he’ll murder any man.

_Greene._ The fitter is he for my purpose, marry!

_Will._ How now, fellow Bradshaw? Whither away so early?

_Bradshaw._ O Will, times are changed: no fellows now, Though we were once together in the field; Yet thy friend to do thee any good I can.

_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 victualer, and domineer’d with it amongst good fellows in one night.

_Bradshaw._ Ay, Will, those days are past with me. 27

_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, Wherein haply thou mayest pleasure me.

_Will._ What is it?

_Bradshaw._ Of late Lord Cheiny lost some plate, Which one did bring and sold it at my shop, Saying he served Sir Antony Cooke. 40 A search was made, the plate was found with me, And I am bound to answer at the ’size. Now, Lord Cheiny solemnly vows, if law Will serve him, he’ll hang me for his plate. Now I am going to London upon hope To find the fellow. Now, Will, I know Thou art acquainted with such companions.

_Will._ What manner of man was he?

_Bradshaw._ A lean-faced writhen knave, Hawk-nosed and very hollow-eyed, 50 With mighty furrows in his stormy brows; Long hair down his shoulders curled; His chin was bare, but on his upper lip A mutchado, which he wound about his ear.

_Will._ What apparel had he?

_Bradshaw._ A watchet satin doublet all-to torn, The inner side did bear the greater show; A pair of thread-bare velvet hose, seam rent, A worsted stocking rent above the shoe, A livery cloak, but all the lace was off; 60 ’Twas bad, but yet it served to hide the plate.

_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.

_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?

_Will._ Why, ’twas one Jack Fitten. He’s now in Newgate for stealing a horse, and shall be arraigned the next ’size. 72

_Bradshaw._ Why, then let Lord Cheiny seek Jack Fitten forth, For I’ll back and tell him who robbed him of his plate. This cheers my heart; Master Greene, I’ll leave you, For I must to the Isle of Sheppy with speed.

_Greene._ Before you go, let me intreat you To carry this letter to Mistress Arden of Feversham And humbly recommend me to herself.

_Bradshaw._ That will I, Master Greene, and so farewell. 80 Here, Will, there’s a crown for thy good news.

[_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, And in a matter of great consequence, Wherein if you’ll be secret and profound, I’ll give you twenty angels for your pains. 89

_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. 93

_Shakebag._ Ay, thy mother, thy sister, thy brother, or all thy kin.

_Greene._ Well, this it is: Arden of Feversham Hath highly wronged me about the Abbey land, That no revenge but death will serve the turn. Will you two kill him? here’s the angels down, And I will lay the platform of his death. 100

_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?

_Greene._ He is now at London, in Aldersgate Street.

_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, and when he is dead, Ye shall have twenty more. 110

_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._

II. i. 51. Mr. Bullen says that such a line as this ‘might have come straight out of _Tamburlaine_.’ He goes on, ‘but in no other part of the play can we find a trace of Marlowe’s influence.’ Cf.--

‘He sent a shaggy tottered staring slave, That when he speaks draws out his grisly beard, And winds it twice or thrice about his ear; Whose face has been a grindstone for men’s swords.’

_Jew of Malta_, IV. v. 6.

and Shakespeare’s--

‘They brought one Pinch, a hungry lean-faced villain ... A needy hollow-ey’d, sharp-looking wretch, A living dead man.’

_Com. of Errors_, V. i. 237.

II. i. 56. _all to torn_; ‘entirely torn.’ _To_ in the sense of ‘asunder’ was commonly emphasised by _all_. Cf. ‘Her wings ... were all to ruffled.’--_Comus_, 380.

II. i. 58. _seam rent_: torn at the seams; ‘Seam rent fellows,’--Ben Jonson.

II. i. 101. Imitated in Yarington’s _Two Tragedies_ (iii. 2):--

‘Grace me no graces, I respect no grace, But with a grace to give a graceless stab.’

II. i. 114. I have inserted _follow_.

SCENE II

_London. A Street near St. Paul’s._

_Enter 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 penetrate, or rather impetrate mercy of your meek hands, I end.

‘Yours, Michael, or else not Michael.’

_Arden._ Why, you paltry knave, Stand you here loitering, knowing my affairs, What haste my business craves to send to Kent? 20

_Franklin._ Faith, friend Michael, this is very ill, Knowing your master hath no more but you, And do ye slack his business for your own?

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

[_Then he gives him the letter._

See, Master Franklin, here’s proper stuff: Susan my maid, the painter, and my man, A crew of harlots, all in love, forsooth; Sirrah, let me hear no more of this, Nor for thy life once write to her a word.

_Here enters Greene, Will, and Shakebag._

Wilt thou be married to so base a trull? 30 ’Tis Mosbie’s sister: come I once at home, I’ll rouse her from remaining in my house. Now, Master Franklin, let us go walk in Paul’s; Come but a turn or two, and then away.

[_Exeunt._

_Greene._ The first is Arden, and that’s his man, The other is Franklin, Arden’s dearest friend.

_Will._ Zounds, I’ll kill them all three.

_Greene._ Nay, sirs, touch not his man in any case; But stand close, and take you fittest standing, And at his coming forth speed him: 40 To the Nag’s Head, there is this coward’s haunt. But now I’ll leave you till the deed be done.

[_Exit Greene._

_Shakebag._ If he be not paid his own, ne’er trust Shakebag.

_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 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. 52

[_Then lets he down his window, and it breaks Black Will’s head._

_Will._ Zounds, draw, Shakebag, I am almost killed.

_Prentice._ We’ll tame you, I warrant.

_Will._ Zounds, I am tame enough already.

_Here enters Arden, Franklin, and Michael._

_Arden._ What troublesome fray or mutiny is this?

_Franklin._ ’Tis nothing but some brabling paltry fray, Devised to pick men’s pockets in the throng.

_Arden._ Is’t nothing else? come, Franklin, let’s away.

[_Exeunt._

_Will._ What ’mends shall I have for my broken head? 60

_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.

_Here enters Greene._

I had a glimpse of him and his companion.

_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? 71

_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?

_Will._ Why, thou seest it is broke, dost thou not? 79

_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, And let us bethink us on some other place Where Arden may be met with handsomely. Remember how devoutly thou hast sworn To kill the villain; think upon thine oath. 90

_Will._ Tush, I have broken five hundred oaths! But wouldst thou charm me to effect this deed, Tell me of gold, my resolution’s fee; Say thou seest Mosbie kneeling at my knees, Offering me service for my high attempt, And sweet Alice Arden, with a lap of crowns, Comes with a lowly curtsey to the earth, Saying ‘Take this but for thy quarterage, Such yearly tribute will I answer thee.’ Why, this would steel soft-mettled cowardice, 100 With which Black Will was never tainted yet. I tell thee, Greene, the forlorn traveller, Whose lips are glued with summer’s parching heat, Ne’er longed so much to see a running brook As I to finish Arden’s tragedy. Seest thou this gore that cleaveth to my face? From hence ne’er will I wash this bloody stain, Till Arden’s heart be panting in my hand.

_Greene._ Why, that’s well said; but what saith Shakebag?

_Shakebag._ I cannot paint my valour out with words: 110 But, give me place and opportunity, Such mercy as the starven lioness, When she is dry sucked of her eager young, Shows to the prey that next encounters her, On Arden so much pity would I take.

_Greene._ So should it fare with men of firm resolve. And now, sirs, seeing that this accident Of meeting him in Paul’s hath no success, Let us bethink us of some other place Whose earth may swallow up this Arden’s blood.

_Here enters Michael._

See, yonder comes his man: and wot you what? 121 The foolish knave’s in love with Mosbie’s sister, And for her sake, whose love he cannot get Unless Mosbie solicit his suit, The villain hath sworn the slaughter of his master. We’ll question him, for he may stead us much,-- How now, Michael, whither are you going?

_Michael._ My master hath new supped, And I am going to prepare his chamber.

_Greene._ Where supped Master Arden? 130

_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, an you be offended, I’ll be gone.

_Greene._ Stay, Michael, you may not escape us so. Michael, I know you love your master well.

_Michael._ Why, so I do; but wherefore urge you that?

_Greene._ Because I think you love your mistress better.

_Michael._ So think not I; but say, i’ faith, what, if I should?

_Shakebag._ Come to the purpose, Michael; we hear 143 You have a pretty love in Feversham.

_Michael._ Why, have I two or three, what’s that to thee!

_Will._ You deal too mildly with the peasant. Thus it is: ’Tis known to us that you love Mosbie’s sister; We know besides that you have ta’en your oath To further Mosbie to your mistress’ bed, And kill your master for his sister’s sake. Now, sir, a poorer coward than yourself 150 Was never fostered in the coast of Kent: How comes it then that such a knave as you Dare swear a matter of such consequence?

_Greene._ Ah, Will----

_Will._ Tush, give me leave, there’s no more but this: Sith thou hast sworn, we dare discover all; And hadst thou or should’st thou utter it, We have devised a complat under hand, Whatever shall betide to any of us, To send thee roundly to the devil of hell. 160 And therefore thus: I am the very man, Marked in my birth-hour by the destinies, To give an end to Arden’s life on earth; Thou but a member but to whet the knife Whose edge must search the closet of his breast: Thy office is but to appoint the place, And train thy master to his tragedy; Mine to perform it when occasion serves. Then be not nice, but here devise with us How and what way we may conclude his death. 170

_Shakebag._ So shalt thou purchase Mosbie for thy friend, And by his friendship gain his sister’s love.

_Greene._ So shall thy mistress be thy favourer, And thou disburdened of the oath thou made.

_Michael._ Well, gentlemen, I cannot but confess, Sith you have urged me so apparently, That I have vowed my master Arden’s death; And he whose kindly love and liberal hand Doth challenge nought but good deserts of me, I will deliver over to your hands. 180 This night come to his house at Aldersgate: The doors I’ll leave unlock’d against you come. No sooner shall ye enter through the latch, Over the threshold to the inner court, But on your left hand shall you see the stairs That leads directly to my master’s chamber: There take him and dispose him as ye please. Now it were good we parted company; What I have promised, I will perform.

_Will._ Should you deceive us, ’twould go wrong with you. 190

_Michael._ I will accomplish all I have revealed.

_Will._ Come, let’s go drink: choler makes me as dry as a dog. 190

[_Exeunt Will, Greene, and Shakebag._ _Manet Michael._

_Michael._ Thus feeds the lamb securely on the down, Whilst through the thicket of an arbour brake The hunger-bitten wolf o’erpries his haunt And takes advantage for to eat him up. Ah, harmless Arden, how hast thou misdone, That thus thy gentle life is levelled at? The many good turns that thou hast done to me. 200 Now must I quittance with betraying thee. I that should take the weapon in my hand And buckler thee from ill-intending foes, Do lead thee with a wicked fraudful smile, As unsuspected, to the slaughter-house. So have I sworn to Mosbie and my mistress, So have I promised to the slaughtermen; And should I not deal currently with them, Their lawless rage would take revenge on me. Tush, I will spurn at mercy for this once: 210 Let pity lodge where feeble women lie, I am resolved, and Arden needs must die.

[_Exit Michael._

II. ii. 3. Michael’s letter is a curious effort at euphuism which calls to mind ‘Love’s Labour’s Lost.’ Note the fabulous natural history, the alliteration, and the alliterative proverb.

II. ii. 51. _old filching_ = ‘rare filching.’ Cf. ‘Yonder’s old coil at hand.’--_Much Ado_, V. ii. 98.

II. ii. 63. The Counter was a London prison.

ACT III

SCENE I

_A Room in Franklin’s House, at Aldersgate._

_Enter Arden and Franklin._

_Arden._ No, Franklin, no: if fear or stormy threats, If love of me or care of womanhood, If fear of God or common speech of men, Who mangle credit with their wounding words, And couch dishonour as dishonour buds, Might join repentance in her wanton thoughts, No question then but she would turn the leaf And sorrow for her dissolution; But she is rooted in her wickedness, Perverse and stubborn, not to be reclaimed; 10 Good counsel is to her as rain to weeds, And reprehension makes her vice to grow As Hydra’s head that plenished by decay. Her faults, methink, are painted in my face, For every searching eye to overread; And Mosbie’s name, a scandal unto mine, Is deeply trenchèd in my blushing brow. Ah, Franklin, Franklin, when I think on this, My heart’s grief rends my other powers Worse than the conflict at the hour of death. 20

_Franklin._ Gentle Arden, leave this sad lament: She will amend, and so your griefs will cease; Or else she’ll die, and so your sorrows end. If neither of these two do haply fall, Yet let your comfort be that others bear Your woes, twice doubled all, with patience.

_Arden._ My house is irksome; there I cannot rest.

_Franklin._ Then stay with me in London; go not home.

_Arden._ Then that base Mosbie doth usurp my room And makes his triumph of my being thence. 30 At home or not at home, where’er I be, Here, here it lies, ah Franklin, here it lies That will not out till wretched Arden dies.

_Here enters Michael._

_Franklin._ Forget your griefs a while; here comes your man.

_Arden._ What a-clock is’t, sirrah?

_Michael._ Almost ten.

_Arden._ See, see, how runs away the weary time! Come, Master Franklin, shall we go to bed?

[_Exeunt Arden and Michael._ _Manet Franklin._

_Franklin._ I pray you, go before: I’ll follow you. --Ah, what a hell is fretful jealousy! 40 What pity-moving words, what deep-fetched sighs, What grievous groans and overlading woes Accompanies this gentle gentleman! Now will he shake his care-oppressèd head, Then fix his sad eyes on the sullen earth, Ashamed to gaze upon the open world; Now will he cast his eyes up towards the heavens, Looking that ways for redress of wrong: Sometimes he seeketh to beguile his grief And tells a story with his careful tongue; 50 Then comes his wife’s dishonour in his thoughts And in the middle cutteth off his tale, Pouring fresh sorrow on his weary limbs. So woe-begone, so inly charged with woe, Was never any lived and bare it so.

_Here enters Michael._

_Michael._ My master would desire you come to bed.

_Franklin._ Is he himself already in his bed?

[_Exit Franklin. Manet Michael._

_Michael._ He is, and fain would have the light away. --Conflicting thoughts, encampèd in my breast, Awake me with the echo of their strokes, 60 And I, a judge to censure either side, Can give to neither wishèd victory. My master’s kindness pleads to me for life With just demand, and I must grant it him: My mistress she hath forced me with an oath, For Susan’s sake, the which I may not break, For that is nearer than a master’s love: That grim-faced fellow, pitiless Black Will, And Shakebag, stern in bloody stratagem, --Two rougher ruffians never lived in Kent,-- 70 Have sworn my death, if I infringe my vow, A dreadful thing to be considered of. Methinks I see them with their bolstered hair Staring and grinning in thy gentle face, And in their ruthless hands their daggers drawn, Insulting o’er thee with a peck of oaths, Whilst thou submissive, pleading for relief, Art mangled by their ireful instruments. Methinks I hear them ask where Michael is, And pitiless Black Will cries: ‘Stab the slave! 80 The peasant will detect the tragedy!’ The wrinkles in his foul death-threat’ning face Gapes open wide, like graves to swallow men. My death to him is but a merriment, And he will murder me to make him sport. He comes, he comes! ah. Master Franklin, help! Call on the neighbours, or we are but dead!

_Here enters Franklin and Arden._

_Franklin._ What dismal outcry calls me from my rest?

_Arden._ What hath occasioned such a fearful cry? Speak, Michael: hath any injured thee? 90

_Michael._ Nothing, sir; but as I fell asleep, Upon the threshold leaning to the stairs, I had a fearful dream that troubled me, And in my slumber thought I was beset With murderer thieves that came to rifle me. My trembling joints witness my inward fear: I crave your pardons for disturbing you.