Act 5 — [Scene III.][2927]
Reading edition
[Scene III.][2927]
Enter Mistress Frankford; with Jenkin, her maid Cicely, her Coachmen, and three Carters.
Mrs. F. Bid my coach stay! Why should I ride in state, Being hurl’d so low down by the hand of fate? A seat like to my fortunes let me have,— Earth for my chair, and for my bed a grave!
Jen. Comfort, good mistress; you have5 watered your coach with tears already. You have but two miles now to go to your manor. A man cannot say by my old master Frankford as he may say by me, that he wants manors; for he hath three or four, of which this is one that we are going to now.11
Cic. Good mistress, be of good cheer! Sorrow, you see, hurts you, but helps you not; we all mourn to see you so sad.
Carter. Mistress, I spy one of my landlord’s men15 Come riding post: ’t is like he brings some news. Mrs. F. Comes he from Master Frankford, he is welcome; So is his news, because they come from him.
Enter Nicholas.
Nich. There! Mrs. F. I know the lute. Oft have I sung to thee;20 We both are out of tune, both out of time.
Nich. Would that had been the worst instrument that e’er you played on! My master commends him to ye; there’s all he can find was ever yours; he hath nothing left that ever you could lay claim to but his own heart,—and26 he could afford you that! All that I have to deliver you is this: he prays you to forget him; and so he bids you farewell.29
Mrs. F. I thank him; he is kind, and ever was. All you that have true feeling of my grief, That know my loss, and have relenting hearts, Gird me about, and help me with your tears To wash my spotted sins! My lute shall groan; It cannot weep, but shall lament my moan.35 [She plays.]
Enter Wendoll [behind].
Wen. Pursu’d with horror of a guilty soul, And with the sharp scourge of repentance lash’d, I fly from mine own shadow. O my stars! What have my parents in their lives deserv’d,39 That you should lay this penance on their son? When I but think of Master Frankford’s love, And lay it to my treason, or compare My murdering him for his relieving me, It strikes a terror like a lightning’s flash, To scorch my blood up. Thus I, like the owl,45 Asham’d of day, live in these shadowy woods, Afraid of every leaf or murmuring blast, Yet longing to receive some perfect knowledge How he hath dealt with her. [Seeing Mistress Frankford.] O my sad fate! Here, and so far from home, and thus attended! Oh, God! I have divorc’d the truest turtles51 That ever liv’d together, and, being divided, In several places make their several moan; She in the fields laments, and he at home; So poets write that Orpheus made the trees55 And stones to dance to his melodious harp, Meaning the rustic and the barbarous hinds, That had no understanding part in them: So she from these rude carters tears extracts, Making their flinty hearts with grief to rise,60 And draw down rivers from their rocky eyes. Mrs. F. [to Nicholas.] If you return unto my master, say (Though not from me, for I am all unworthy To blast his name so with a strumpet’s tongue) That you have seen me weep, wish myself dead!65 Nay, you may say, too (for my vow is past),[2928] Last night you saw me eat and drink my last. This to your master you may say and swear; For it is writ in heaven, and decreed here. Nich. I’ll say you wept; I’ll swear you made me sad.70 Why, how now, eyes? What now? What’s here to do? I’m gone, or I shall straight turn baby too. Wen. [Aside.] I cannot weep, my heart is all on fire. Curs’d be the fruits of my unchaste desire! Mrs. F. Go, break this lute upon my coach’s wheel,75 As the last music that I e’er shall make,— Not as my husband’s gift, but my farewell To all earth’s joy; and so your master tell! Nich. If I can for crying. Wen. [Aside.] Grief, have done, Or, like a madman, I shall frantic run.80 Mrs. F. You have beheld the wofull’st wretch on earth,— A woman made of tears; would you had words To express but what you see! My inward grief No tongue can utter; yet unto your power You may describe my sorrow, and disclose85 To thy sad master my abundant woes. Nich. I’ll do your commendations.[2929] Mrs. F. Oh, no! I dare not so presume; nor to my children! I am disclaim’d in both; alas! I am. Oh, never teach them, when they come to speak,90 To name the name of mother: chide their tongue, If they by chance light on that hated word; Tell them ’t is naught; for when that word they name, Poor, pretty souls! they harp on their own shame. Wen. [Aside.] To recompense their wrongs, what canst thou do?95 Thou hast made her husbandless, and childless too. Mrs. F. I have no more to say.—Speak not for me; Yet you may tell your master what you see. Nich. I’ll do ’t. Exit. Wen. [Aside.] I’ll speak to her, and comfort her in grief.100 Oh, but her wound cannot be cur’d with words! No matter, though; I’ll do my best, good will To work a cure on her whom I did kill. Mrs. F. So, now unto my coach, then to my home, So to my death-bed; for from this sad hour,105 I never will nor eat, nor drink, nor taste Of any cates[2930] that may preserve my life. I never will nor smile, nor sleep, nor rest; But when my tears have wash’d my black soul white, Sweet Saviour, to thy hands I yield my sprite. Wen. [coming forward.] Oh, Mistress Frankford! Mrs. F. Oh, for God’s sake, fly!111 The devil doth come to tempt me, ere I die. My coach!—This sin, that with an angel’s face Conjur’d[2931] mine honour, till he sought my wrack, In my repentant eye seems ugly, black.115
Exeunt all [except Wendoll and Jenkin]; the Carters whistling.
Jen. What, my young master, that fled in his shirt! How come you by your clothes again? You have made our house in a sweet pickle, ha’ ye not, think you? What, shall I serve you still, or cleave to the old house?120
Wen. Hence, slave! Away, with thy unseason’d mirth! Unless thou canst shed tears, and sigh, and howl, Curse thy sad fortunes, and exclaim on fate, Thou art not for my turn.
Jen. Marry, an you will not, another will; farewell, and be hang’d! Would you had126 never come to have kept this coil[2932] within our doors! We shall ha’ you run away like a sprite again.
[Exit.]
Wen. She ’s gone to death; I live to want and woe,130 Her life, her sins, and all upon my head. And I must now go wander, like a Cain, In foreign countries and remoted climes, Where the report of my ingratitude Cannot be heard. I ’ll over first to France,135 And so to Germany and Italy; Where, when I have recovered, and by travel Gotten those perfect tongues,[2933] and that these rumours May in their height abate, I will return: And I divine (however now dejected),140 My worth and parts being by some great man prais’d, At my return I may in court be rais’d. Exit.