Act 5 — [Scene I.][2803]

Sir F. Some music, there! None lead the bride a dance? Sir C. Yes, would she dance The Shaking of the Sheets; But that’s the dance her husband means to lead her. Wen. That’s not the dance that every man must dance, According to the ballad.[2805] Sir F. Music, ho!5 By your leave, sister,—by your husband’s leave, I should have said,—the hand that but this day Was given you in the church I’ll borrow.—Sound! This marriage music hoists me from the ground. Frank. Ay, you may caper; you are light and free!10 Marriage hath yok’d my heels; pray, then, pardon me. Sir F. I’ll have you dance too, brother! Sir C. Master Frankford, You are a happy man, sir, and much joy Succeed your marriage mirth: you have a wife So qualified, and with such ornaments15 Both of the mind and body. First, her birth Is noble, and her education such As might become the daughter of a prince; Her own tongue speaks all tongues, and her own hand Can teach all strings to speak in their best grace,20 From the shrill’st treble to the hoarsest base. To end her many praises in one word, She’s Beauty and Perfection’s eldest daughter, Only found by yours, though many a heart hath sought her. Frank. But that I know your virtues and chaste thoughts,25 I should be jealous of your praise, Sir Charles. Cran. He speaks no more than you approve. Mal. Nor flatters he that gives to her her due. Mrs. F. I would your praise could find a fitter theme Than my imperfect beauties to speak on!30 Such as they be, if they my husband please, They suffice me now I am married. His sweet content is like a flattering glass, To make my face seem fairer to mine eye; But the least wrinkle from his stormy brow35 Will blast the roses in my cheeks that grow. Sir F. A perfect wife already, meek and patient! How strangely the word husband fits your mouth. Not married three hours since! Sister, ’t is good;39 You that begin betimes thus must needs prove Pliant and duteous in your husband’s love.— Gramercies, brother! Wrought her to ’t already,— ‘Sweet husband,’ and a curtsey, the first day? Mark this, mark this, you that are bachelors, And never took the grace[2806] of honest man;45 Mark this, against you marry,[2807] this one phrase: In a good time that man both wins and woos That takes his wife down[2808] in her wedding shoes. Frank. Your sister takes not after you, Sir Francis, All his wild blood your father spent on you;50 He got her in his age, when he grew civil. All his mad tricks were to his land entail’d, And you are heir to all; your sister, she Hath to her dower her mother’s modesty. Sir C. Lord, sir, in what a happy state live you!55 This morning, which to many seems a burden, Too heavy to bear, is unto you a pleasure. This lady is no clog, as many are; She doth become you like a well-made suit, In which the tailor hath us’d all his art;60 Not like a thick coat of unseason’d frieze, Forc’d on your back in summer. She’s no chain To tie your neck, and curb you to the yoke: But she’s a chain of gold to adorn your neck. You both adorn each other, and your hands,65 Methinks, are matches. There’s equality In this fair combination; you are both Scholars, both young, both being descended nobly. There’s music in this sympathy; it carries Consort and expectation of much joy,70 Which God bestow on you from this first day Until your dissolution,—that’s for aye! Sir F. We keep you here too long, good brother Frankford. Into the hall; away! Go cheer your guests. What! Bride and bridegroom both withdrawn at once?75 If you be mist, the guests will doubt their welcome, And charge you with unkindness. Frank. To prevent it, I’ll leave you here, to see the dance within. Mrs. F. And so will I. Exeunt [Master and Mistress Frankford]. Sir. F. To part you it were sin.— Now, gallants, while the town musicians 80 Finger their frets[2809] within, and the mad lads And country lasses, every mother’s child, With nosegays and bride-laces[2810] in their hats, Dance all their country measures, rounds, and jigs, What shall we do? Hark! They’re all on the hoigh;[2811] 85 They toil like mill-horses, and turn as round,— Marry, not on the toe! Ay, and they caper, [Not][2812] without cutting; you shall see, to-morrow, The hall-floor peckt and dinted like a millstone, Made with their high shoes. Though their skill be small, 90 Yet they tread heavy where their hobnails fall. Sir C. Well, leave them to their sports!—Sir Francis Acton, I’ll make a match with you! Meet me to-morrow At Chevy Chase; I’ll fly my hawk with yours. Sir F. For what? For what? Sir C. Why, for a hundred pound. 95 Sir F. Pawn me some gold of that! Sir C. Here are ten angels;[2813] I’ll make them good a hundred pound to-morrow Upon my hawk’s wing. Sir. F. ’T is a match; ’t is done. Another hundred pound upon your dogs;— Dare ye, Sir Charles? Sir C. I dare; were I sure to lose, I durst do more than that; here is my hand, 101 The first course for a hundred pound! Sir F. A match. Wen. Ten angels on Sir Francis Acton’s hawk; As much upon his dogs! Cran. I’m for Sir Charles Mountford: I have seen 105 His hawk and dog both tried. What! Clap ye hands,[2814] Or is’t no bargain? Wen. Yes, and stake them down. Were they five hundred, they were all my own. Sir F. Be stirring early with the lark to-morrow; I’ll rise into my saddle ere the sun110 Rise from his bed. Sir C. If there you miss me, say I am no gentleman! I’ll hold my day. Sir F. It holds on all sides.—Come, to-night let ’s dance; Early to-morrow let ’s prepare to ride:114 We ’d need be three hours up before the bride. Exeunt.