Act the Third
Scene I A Room in Sir Charles Mountford’s House
Enter Sir Charles Mountford and Susan.
Sir Charles Mountford.
Sister, you see we are driven to hard shift
To keep this poor house we have left unsold;
I am now enforced to follow husbandry,
And you to milk; and do we not live well?
Well, I thank God.
Susan.
O brother, here’s a change,
Since old Sir Charles died, in our father’s house!
Sir Charles Mountford.
All things on earth thus change, some up, some down;
Content’s a kingdom, and I wear that crown.
Enter Shafton with a Serjeant.
Shafton.
Good morrow, morrow, Sir Charles: what, with your sister,
Plying your husbandry?—Serjeant, stand off.—
You have a pretty house here, and a garden,
And goodly ground about it. Since it lies
So near a lordship that I lately bought,
I would fain buy it of you. I will give you——
Sir Charles Mountford.
O, pardon me: this house successively
Hath ’longed to me and my progenitors
Three hundred years. My great-great-grandfather,
He in whom first our gentle style began,
Dwelt here; and in this ground, increased this mole-hill
Unto that mountain which my father left me.
Where he the first of all our house began,
I now the last will end, and keep this house,
This virgin title, never yet deflowered
By any unthrift of the Mountfords’ line.
In brief, I will not sell it for more gold
Than you could hide or pave the ground withal.
Shafton.
Ha, ha! a proud mind and a beggar’s purse!
Where’s my three hundred pounds, besides the use?
I have brought it to an execution
By course of law: what, is my moneys ready?
Sir Charles Mountford.
An execution, sir, and never tell me
You put my bond in suit! you deal extremely.
Shafton.
Sell me the land, and I’ll acquit you straight.
Sir Charles Mountford.
Alas, alas! ’tis all trouble hath left me
To cherish me and my poor sister’s life.
If this were sold, our names should then be quite
Razed from the bed-roll21 of gentility.
You see what hard shift we have made to keep it
Allied still to our own name. This palm, you see,
Labour hath glowed within: her silver brow,
That never tasted a rough winter’s blast
Without a mask or fan, doth with a grace
Defy cold winter, and his storms outface.
Susan.
Sir, we feed sparing, and we labour hard,
We lie uneasy, to reserve to us
And our succession this small plot of ground.
Sir Charles Mountford.
I have so bent my thoughts to husbandry,
That I protest I scarcely can remember
What a new fashion is; how silk or satin
Feels in my hand: why, pride is grown to us
A mere, mere stranger. I have quite forgot
The names of all that ever waited on me;
I cannot name ye any of my hounds,
Once from whose echoing mouths I heard all music
That e’er my heart desired. What should I say?
To keep this place I have changed myself away.
Shafton.
[To the Serjeant.] Arrest him at my suit. Actions and actions
Shall keep thee in perpetual bondage fast:
Nay, more, I’ll sue thee by a late appeal,
And call thy former life in question.
The keeper is my friend, thou shalt have irons,
And usage such as I’ll deny to dogs:
Away with him!
Sir Charles Mountford.
[To Susan.] You are too timorous:
But trouble is my master,
And I will serve him truly.—My kind sister,
Thy tears are of no force to mollify
This flinty man. Go to my father’s brother,
My kinsmen and allies; entreat them for me,
To ransom me from this injurious man,
That seeks my ruin.
Shafton.
Come, irons, irons! come away;
I’ll see thee lodged far from the sight of day.
[Exeunt Shafton and Serjeant with Sir Charles.
Susan.
My heart’s so hardened with the frost of grief,
Death cannot pierce it through. Tyrant too fell!
So lead the fiends condemnèd souls to hell.
Enter Sir Francis Acton and Malby.
Sir Francis Acton.
Again to prison! Malby, hast thou seen
A poor slave better tortured? Shall we hear
The music of his voice cry from the grate,22
“Meat for the Lord’s sake”? No, no, yet I am not
Throughly revenged. They say he hath a pretty wench
Unto his sister: shall I, in mercy-sake
To him and to his kindred, bribe the fool
To shame herself by lewd dishonest lust?
I’ll proffer largely; but, the deed being done,
I’ll smile to see her base confusion.
Malby.
Methinks, Sir Francis, you are full revenged
For greater wrongs than he can proffer you.
See where the poor sad gentlewoman stands.
Sir Francis Acton.
Ha, ha! now will I flout her poverty,
Deride her fortunes, scoff her base estate;
My very soul the name of Mountford hates.
But stay, my heart! oh, what a look did fly
To strike my soul through with thy piercing eye!
I am enchanted; all my spirits are fled,
And with one glance my envious spleen struck dead.
Susan.
Acton! that seeks our blood. [Runs away.
Sir Francis Acton.
O chaste and fair!
Malby.
Sir Francis, why, Sir Francis, zounds! in a trance?
Sir Francis, what cheer, man? Come, come, how is’t?
Sir Francis Acton.
Was she not fair? Or else this judging eye
Cannot distinguish beauty.
Malby.
She was fair.
Sir Francis Acton.
She was an angel in a mortal’s shape,
And ne’er descended from old Mountford’s line.
But soft, soft, let me call my wits together.
A poor, poor wench, to my great adversary
Sister, whose very souls denounce stern war,
One against other. How now, Frank? turned fool
Or madman, whether? But no; master of
My perfect senses and directest wits.
Then why should I be in this violent humour
Of passion and of love; and with a person
So different every way, and so opposed
In all contractions, and still-warring actions?
Fie, fie; how I dispute against my soul!
Come, come; I’ll gain her, or in her fair quest
Purchase my soul free and immortal rest.
[Exeunt.