Scene VI The Hall of Frankford’s House
Nicholas discovered.
Nicholas.
Here’s a circumstance.
A man be made cuckold in the time
That he’s about it. An the case were mine,
As ’tis my master’s,—’sblood that he makes me swear!—
I would have placed his action, entered there;
I would, I would.
Enter Frankford.
Frankford.
Oh! oh!
Nicholas.
Master, ’sblood! master! master!
Frankford.
O me unhappy! I have found them lying
Close in each other’s arms, and fast asleep.
But that I would not damn two precious souls,
Bought with my Saviour’s blood, and send them, laden
With all their scarlet sins upon their backs,
Unto a fearful judgment, their two lives
Had met upon my rapier.
Nicholas.
’Sblood, master, what, have you left them sleeping still? let me go wake them.
Frankford.
Stay, let me pause a while.
O God! O God! that it were possible
To undo things done; to call back yesterday!
That Time could turn up his swift sandy glass,
To untell the days, and to redeem these hours!
Or that the sun
Could, rising from the west, draw his coach backward,
Take from the account of time so many minutes,
Till he had all these seasons called again,
Those minutes, and those actions done in them,
Even from her first offence; that I might take her As spotless as an angel in my arms!
But, oh! I talk of things impossible,
And cast beyond the moon.38 God give me patience!
For I will in and wake them. [Exit.
Nicholas.
Here’s patience perforce;39
He needs must trot afoot that tires his horse.
Enter Wendoll, running over the stage in a night-gown, Frankford after him with a sword drawn; a Maid-servant in her smock stays his hand, and clasps hold on him. Frankford pauses for a while.
Frankford.
I thank thee, maid; thou, like the angel’s hand,
Hast stayed me from a bloody sacrifice.40 [Exit Maid-servant.
Go, villain, and my wrongs sit on thy soul
As heavy as this grief doth upon mine!
When thou record’st my many courtesies,
And shalt compare them with thy treacherous heart,
Lay them together, weigh them equally,
’Twill be revenge enough. Go, to thy friend
A Judas: pray, pray, lest I live to see
Thee, Judas-like, hanged on an elder-tree.
Enter Mistress Frankford in her night attire.
Mistress Frankford.
Oh, by what word, what title, or what name,
Shall I entreat your pardon? Pardon! oh!
I am as far from hoping such sweet grace
As Lucifer from heaven. To call you husband—
O me, most wretched! I have lost that name,
I am no more your wife.
Nicholas.
’Sblood, sir, she swoons.
Frankford.
Spare thou thy tears, for I will weep for thee:
And keep thy countenance, for I’ll blush for thee.
Now, I protest, I think ’tis I am tainted,
For I am most ashamed; and ’tis more hard
For me to look upon thy guilty face,
Than on the sun’s clear brow. What wouldst thou speak?
Mistress Frankford.
I would I had no tongue, no ears, no eyes,
No apprehension, no capacity.
When do you spurn me like a dog? when tread me
Under your feet? when drag me by the hair?
Though I deserve a thousand thousand fold
More than you can inflict: yet, once my husband,
For womanhood, to which I am a shame,
Though once an ornament—even for His sake
That hath redeemed our souls, mark not my face,
Nor hack me with your sword; but let me go
Perfect and undeformèd to my tomb.
I am not worthy that I should prevail
In the least suit; no, not to speak to you,
Nor look on you, nor to be in your presence.
Yet, as an abject, this one suit I crave;
This granted, I am ready for my grave. [Kneels.
Frankford.
My God, with patience arm me! Rise, nay, rise,
And I’ll debate with thee. Was it for want
Thou playedst the strumpet? Wast thou not supplied
With every pleasure, fashion, and new toy,
Nay, even beyond my calling?
Mistress Frankford.
I was.
Frankford.
Was it then disability in me;
Or in thine eye seemed he a properer man?
Mistress Frankford.
Oh, no.
Frankford.
Did not I lodge thee in my bosom?
Wear thee here in my heart?
Mistress Frankford.
You did.
Frankford.
I did, indeed; witness my tears I did.
Go, bring my infants hither.
[Enter Servant with two Children.]
O Nan! O Nan!
If neither fear of shame, regard of honour,
The blemish of my house, nor my dear love
Could have withheld thee from so lewd a fact,
Yet for these infants, these young harmless souls,
On whose white brows thy shame is charactered,
And grows in greatness as they wax in years,—
Look but on them, and melt away in tears.
Away with them! lest, as her spotted body
Hath stained their names with stripe of bastardy,
So her adulterous breath may blast their spirits
With her infectious thoughts. Away with them!
[Exeunt Servant and Children.
Mistress Frankford.
In this one life I die ten thousand deaths.
Frankford.
Stand up, stand up; I will do nothing rashly;
I will retire a while into my study,
And thou shalt hear thy sentence presently. [Exit.
Mistress Frankford.
’Tis welcome, be it death. O me, base strumpet,
That, having such a husband, such sweet children,
Must enjoy neither! Oh, to redeem my honour,
I would have this hand cut off, these my breasts seared,
Be racked, strappadoed, put to any torment:
Nay, to whip but this scandal out, I would hazard
The rich and dear redemption of my soul.
He cannot be so base as to forgive me;
Nor I so shameless to accept his pardon.
O women, women, you that yet have kept
Your holy matrimonial vow unstained,
Make me your instance: when you tread awry,
Your sins, like mine, will on your conscience lie.
Enter Cicely, Jenkin, and all the serving-men as newly come out of bed.
All.
O mistress, mistress, what have you done, mistress?
Nicholas.
’Sblood, what a caterwauling keep you here!
Jenkin.
O Lord, mistress, how comes this to pass? My master is run away in his shirt, and never so much as called me to bring his clothes after him.
Mistress Frankford.
See what guilt is! here stand I in this place,
Ashamed to look my servants in the face.
Enter Frankford and Cranwell, whom seeing she falls on her knees.
Frankford.
My words are registered in Heaven already,
With patience hear me. I’ll not martyr thee,
Nor mark thee for a strumpet; but with usage
Of more humility torment thy soul,
And kill thee even with kindness.
Cranwell.
Master Frankford——
Frankford.
Good Master Cranwell. Woman, hear thy judgment.
Go make thee ready in thy best attire;
Take with thee all thy gowns, all thy apparel;
Leave nothing that did ever call thee mistress,
Or by whose sight, being left here in the house,
I may remember such a woman by.
Choose thee a bed and hangings for thy chamber;
Take with thee every thing that, hath thy mark,
And get thee to my manor seven mile off,
Where live; ’tis thine; I freely give it thee.
My tenants by shall furnish thee with wains
To carry all thy stuff, within two hours,—
No longer will I limit thee my sight.
Choose which of all my servants thou likest best,
And they are thine to attend thee.
Mistress Frankford.
A mild sentence.
Frankford.
But, as thou hopest for Heaven, as thou believest
Thy name’s recorded in the book of life,
I charge thee never, after this sad day,
To see me, or to meet me, or to send
By word or writing, gift, or otherwise,
To move me, by thyself, or by thy friends;
Nor challenge any part in my two children.
So, farewell, Nan! for we will henceforth be
As we had never seen, ne’er more shall see.
Mistress Frankford.
How full my heart is, in mine eyes appears;
What wants in words, I will supply in tears.
Frankford.
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.
[Exeunt.