_Country near Rochester._
_Here enters Greene, Will, and Shakebag._
_Shakebag._ Come, Will, see thy tools be in a readiness!
Is not thy powder dank, or will thy flint strike fire?
_Will._ Then ask me if my nose be on my face,
Or whether my tongue be frozen in my mouth.
Zounds, here’s a coil!
You were best swear me on the interrogatories
How many pistols I have took in hand,
Or whether I love the smell of gunpowder,
Or dare abide the noise the dag will make,
Or will not wink at flashing of the fire. 10
I pray thee, Shakebag, let this answer thee,
That I have took more purses in this down
Than e’er thou handledst pistols in thy life.
_Shakebag._ Ay, haply thou has picked more in a throng:
But, should I brag what booties I have took,
I think the overplus that’s more than thine
Would mount to a greater sum of money
Then either thou or all thy kin are worth.
Zounds, I hate them as I hate a toad
That carry a muscado in their tongue, 20
And scarce a hurting weapon in their hand.
_Will._ O Greene, intolerable!
It is not for mine honour to bear this.
Why, Shakebag, I did serve the king at Boulogne,
And thou canst brag of nothing that thou hast done.
_Shakebag._ Why, so can Jack of Feversham,
That sounded for a fillip on the nose,
When he that gave it him holloed in his ear,
And he supposed a cannon-bullet hit him.
_Then they fight._
_Greene._ I pray you, sirs, list to Æsop’s talk: 30
Whilst two stout dogs were striving for a bone,
There comes a cur and stole it from them both;
So, while you stand striving on these terms of manhood,
Arden escapes us, and deceives us all.
_Shakebag._ Why, he begun.
_Will._ And thou shalt find I’ll end;
I do but slip it until better time:
But, if I do forget----
[_Then he kneels down and holds up
his hands to heaven._
_Greene._ Well, take your fittest standings, and once more
Lime well your twigs to catch this wary bird.
I’ll leave you, and at your dag’s discharge 40
Make towards, like the longing water-dog
That coucheth till the fowling-piece be off,
Then seizeth on the prey with eager mood.
Ah, might I see him stretching forth his limbs,
As I have seen them beat their wings ere now!
_Shakebag._ Why, that thou shalt see, if he come this way.
_Greene._ Yes, that he doth, Shakebag, I warrant thee:
But brawl not when I am gone in any case.
But, sirs, be sure to speed him when he comes,
And in that hope I’ll leave you for an hour. 50
[_Exit Greene._
_Here enters Arden, Franklin, and Michael._
_Michael._ ’Twere best that I went back to Rochester:
The horse halts downright; it were not good
He travelled in such pain to Feversham;
Removing of a shoe may haply help it.
_Arden._ Well, get you back to Rochester; but, sirrah, see
Ye o’ertake us ere we come to Rainham Down,
For ’t will be very late ere we get home.
_Michael._ Ay, God he knows, and so doth Will and Shakebag,
That thou shalt never go further than that down;
And therefore have I pricked the horse on purpose,
Because I would not view the massacre. 61
[_Exit Michael._
_Arden._ Come, Master Franklin, onwards with your tale.
_Franklin._ I do assure you, sir, you task me much:
A heavy blood is gathered at my heart,
And on the sudden is my wind so short
As hindereth the passage of my speech;
So fierce a qualm yet ne’er assailed me.
_Arden._ Come, Master Franklin, let us go on softly:
The annoyance of the dust or else some meat
You ate at dinner cannot brook with you. 70
I have been often so, and soon amended.
_Franklin._ Do you remember where my tale did leave?
_Arden._ Ay, where the gentleman did check his wife.
_Franklin._ She being reprehended for the fact,
Witness produced that took her with the deed,
Her glove brought in which there she left behind,
And many other assured arguments,
Her husband asked her whether it were not so.
_Arden._ Her answer then? I wonder how she looked,
Having forsworn it with such vehement oaths, 80
And at the instant so approved upon her.
_Franklin._ First did she cast her eyes down to the earth,
Watching the drops that fell amain from thence;
Then softly draws she forth her handkercher,
And modestly she wipes her tear-stained face;
Them hemmed she out, to clear her voice should seem,
And with a majesty addressed herself
To encounter all their accusations.--
Pardon me, Master Arden, I can no more;
This fighting at my heart makes short my wind. 90
_Arden._ Come, we are almost now at Rainham Down:
Your pretty tale beguiles the weary way;
I would you were in state to tell it out.
_Shakebag._ Stand close, Will, I hear them coming.
_Here enters Lord Cheiny with his men._
_Will._ Stand to it, Shakebag, and be resolute.
_L. Cheiny._ Is it so near night as it seems,
Or will this black-faced evening have a shower?
--What, Master Arden? you are well met,
I have longed this fortnight’s day to speak with you:
You are a stranger, man, in the Isle of Sheppy. 100
_Arden._ Your honour’s always! bound to do you service.
_L. Cheiny._ Come you from London, and ne’er a man with you?
_Arden._ My man’s coming after, but here’s
My honest friend that came along with me.
_L. Cheiny._ My Lord Protector’s man I take you to be.
_Franklin._ Ay, my good lord, and highly bound to you.
_L. Cheiny._ You and your friend come home and sup with me.
_Arden._ I beseech your honour pardon me;
I have made a promise to a gentleman,
My honest friend, to meet him at my house; 110
The occasion is great, or else would I wait on you.
_L. Cheiny._ Will you come to-morrow and dine with me,
And bring your honest friend along with you?
I have divers matters to talk with you about.
_Arden._ To-morrow we’ll wait upon your honour.
_L. Cheiny._ One of you stay my horse at the top of the hill.
--What! Black Will? for whose purse wait you?
Thou wilt be hanged in Kent, when all is done.
_Will._ Not hanged, God save your honour;
I am your bedesman, bound to pray for you. 120
_L. Cheiny._ I think thou ne’er said’st prayer in all thy life.--
One of you give him a crown:--
And, sirrah, leave this kind of life;
If thou beest tainted for a penny-matter,
And come in question, surely thou wilt truss.
--Come, Master Arden, let us be going;
Your way and mine lies four miles together.
[_Exeunt. Manet Black Will and Shakebag._
_Will._ The devil break all your necks at four miles’ end!
Zounds, I could kill myself for very anger!
His lordship chops me in, 130
Even when my dag was levelled at his heart.
I would his crown were molten down his throat.
_Shakebag._ Arden, thou hast wondrous holy luck.
Did ever man escape as thou hast done?
Well, I’ll discharge my pistol at the sky,
For by this bullet Arden might not die.
_Here enters Greene._
_Greene._ What, is he down? is he dispatched?
_Shakebag._ Ay, in health towards Feversham, to shame us all.
_Greene._ The devil he is! why, sirs, how escaped he?
_Shakebag._ When we were ready to shoot, 140
Comes my Lord Cheiny to prevent his death.
_Greene._ The Lord of Heaven hath preserved him.
_Will._ Preserved a fig! The Lord Cheiny hath preserved him,
And bids him to a feast to his house at Shorlow.
But by the way once more I’ll meet with him,
And, if all the Cheinies in the world say no,
I’ll have a bullet in his breast to-morrow.
Therefore come, Greene, and let us to Feversham.
_Greene._ Ay, and excuse ourselves to Mistress Arden:
O, how she’ll chafe when she hears of this! 150
_Shakebag._ Why, I’ll warrant you she’ll think we dare
not do it.
_Will._ Why, then let us go, and tell her all the matter,
And plat the news to cut him off to-morrow.
[_Exeunt._
III. vi. 144. _Shorlow_ should be Shurland in Sheppey.
ACT IV
SCENE I
_Arden’s House at Feversham._
_Here enters Arden and his wife, Franklin, and Michael_
_Arden._ See how the hours, the gardant of heaven’s gate,
Have by their toil removed the darksome clouds,
That Sol may well discern the trampled path
Wherein he wont to guide his golden car;
The season fits; come, Franklin, let’s away.
_Alice._ I thought you did pretend some special hunt,
That made you thus cut short the time of rest.
_Arden._ It was no chase that made me rise so early,
But, as I told thee yesternight, to go
To the Isle of Sheppy, there to dine with my Lord Cheiny; 10
For so his honour late commanded me.
_Alice._ Ay, such kind husbands seldom want excuses;
Home is a wild cat to a wandering wit.
The time hath been,--would God it were not past,--
That honour’s title nor a lord’s command
Could once have drawn you from these arms of mine.
But my deserts or your desires decay,
Or both; yet if true love may seem desert,
I merit still to have thy company.
_Franklin._ Why, I pray you, sir, let her go along with us; 20
I am sure his honour will welcome her
And us the more for bringing her along.
_Arden._ Content; sirrah, saddle your mistress’ nag.
_Alice._ No, begged favour merits little thanks;
If I should go, our house would run away,
Or else be stolen; therefore I’ll stay behind.
_Arden._ Nay, see how mistaking you are! I pray thee, go.
_Alice._ No, no, not now.
_Arden._ Then let me leave thee satisfied in this,
That time nor place nor persons alter me, 30
But that I hold thee dearer than my life.
_Alice._ That will be seen by your quick return.
_Arden._ And that shall be ere night, and if I live.
Farewell, sweet Alice, we mind to sup with thee.
[_Exit Alice._
_Franklin._ Come, Michael, are our horses ready?
_Michael._ Ay, your horse are ready, but I am not ready,
for I have lost my purse, with six and thirty
shillings in it, with taking up of my master’s nag.
_Franklin._ Why, I pray you, let us go before,
Whilst he stays behind to seek his purse. 40
_Arden._ Go to, sirrah, see you follow us to the Isle of Sheppy
To my Lord Cheiny’s, where we mean to dine.
[_Exeunt Arden and Franklin. Manet Michael._
_Michael._ So, fair weather after you, for before you lies
Black Will and Shakebag in the broom close, too
close for you: they’ll be your ferrymen to long
home.
_Here enters the Painter._
But who is this? the painter, my corrival, that
would needs win Mistress Susan.
_Clarke._ How now, Michael? how doth my mistress and all at home?
_Michael._ Who? Susan Mosbie? she is your mistress, too? 50
_Clarke._ Ay, how doth she and all the rest?
_Michael._ All’s well but Susan; she is sick.
_Clarke._ Sick? Of what disease?
_Michael._ Of a great fever.
_Clarke._ A fear of what?
_Michael._ A great fever.
Clarke. A fever? God forbid!
_Michael._ Yes, faith, and of a lordaine, too, as big as yourself.
_Clarke._ O, Michael, the spleen prickles you. Go to,
you carry an eye over Mistress Susan. 60
_Michael._ I’ faith, to keep her from the painter.
_Clarke._ Why more from a painter than from a serving
creature like yourself?
Michael. Because you painters make but a painting
table of a pretty wench, and spoil her beauty with
blotting.
_Clarke._ What mean you by that?
_Michael._ Why, that you painters paint lambs in the lining
of wenches’ petticoats, and we serving-men put
horns to them to make them become sheep. 70
_Clarke._ Such another word will cost you a cuff or a
knock.
_Michael._ What, with a dagger made of a pencil? Faith,
’tis too weak, and therefore thou too weak to win
Susan.
_Clarke._ Would Susan’s love lay upon this stroke.
[_Then he breaks Michael’s head._
_Here enters Mosbie, Greene, and Alice._
_Alice._ I’ll lay my life, this is for Susan’s love.
Stayed you behind your master to this end?
Have you no other time to brable in
But now when serious matters are in hand?--
Say, Clarke, hast thou done the thing thou promised? 80
_Clarke._ Ay, here it is; the very touch is death.
_Alice._ Then this, I hope, if all the rest do fail,
Will catch Master Arden,
And make him wise in death that lived a fool.
Why should he thrust his sickle in our corn,
Or what hath he to do with thee, my love,
Or govern me that am to rule myself?
Forsooth, for credit sake, I must leave thee!
Nay, he must leave to live that we may love,
May live, may love; for what is life but love? 90
And love shall last as long as life remains,
And life shall end before my love depart.
_Mosbie._ Why, what is love without true constancy?
Like to a pillar built of many stones,
Yet neither with good mortar well compact
Nor with cement to fasten it in the joints,
But that it shakes with every blast of wind,
And, being touched, straight falls unto the earth,
And buries all his haughty pride in dust.
No, let our love be rocks of adamant, 100
Which time nor place nor tempest can asunder.
_Greene._ Mosbie, leave protestations now,
And let us bethink us what we have to do.
Black Will and Shakebag I have placed i’ the broom,
Close watching Arden’s coming; let’s to them
And see what they have done. [_Exeunt._
IV. i. 1. _gardant_: A, B read _gardeant_, modern editors _guardians_.
IV. i. 3. _path_: so Warnke for _pace_ of A, B, C; but _pace_ in the
sense of ‘path’ is not impossible.
IV. i. 17. _desires_: so Warnke for _deserves_, A, B, C.
IV. i. 44. ‘A certain broom-close betwixt Feversham and the
Ferry.’--Holinshed.
IV. i. 45. Cf. _Ecclesiastes_, vii. 5.
IV. i. 96. _nor with cement_: Delius _for nor semell_, A, B.
SCENE II
_The Kentish Coast opposite the Isle of Sheppy._
_Here enters Arden and Franklin._
_Arden._ Oh, ferryman, where art thou?
_Here enters the Ferryman._
_Ferryman._ Here, here, go before to the boat, and I will
follow you.
_Arden._ We have great haste; I pray thee, come away.
_Ferryman._ Fie, what a mist is here!
_Arden._ This mist, my friend, is mystical,
Like to a good companion’s smoky brain,
That was half drowned with new ale overnight.
_Ferryman._ ’Twere pity but his skull were opened to
make more chimney room. 10
_Franklin._ Friend, what’s thy opinion of this mist?
_Ferryman._ I think ’tis like to a curst wife in a little
house, that never leaves her husband till she have
driven him out at doors with a wet pair of eyes;
then looks he as if his house were a-fire, or some of
his friends dead.
_Arden._ Speaks thou this of thine own experience?
_Ferryman._ Perhaps, ay; perhaps, no: For my wife is
as other women are, that is to say, governed by the
moon. 20
_Franklin._ By the moon? how, I pray thee?
_Ferryman._ Nay, thereby lies a bargain, and you shall
not have it fresh and fasting.
_Arden._ Yes, I pray thee, good ferryman.
_Ferryman._ Then for this once; let it be midsummer
moon, but yet my wife has another moon.
_Franklin._ Another moon?
_Ferryman._ Ay, and it hath influences and eclipses.
_Arden._ Why, then, by this reckoning you sometimes
play the man in the moon? 30
_Ferryman._ Ay, but you had not best to meddle with
that moon, lest I scratch you by the face with my
bramble-bush.
_Arden._ I am almost stifled with this fog; come, let’s
away.
_Franklin._ And, sirrah, as we go, let us have some more
of your bold yeomanry.
_Ferryman._ Nay, by my troth, sir, but flat knavery.
[_Exeunt._
IV. ii. 5. This mist is not in Holinshed. It is our poet’s invention.
IV. ii. 30. Cf. _Midsummer Night’s Dream_, V. i. 237, etc.
SCENE III
_Another place on the coast._
_Here enters Will at one door, and Shakebag at another._
_Shakebag._ Oh, Will, where art thou?
_Will._ Here, Shakebag, almost in hell’s mouth, where I
cannot see my way for smoke.
_Shakebag._ I pray thee speak still that we may meet by
the sound, for I shall fall into some ditch or other,
unless my feet see better than my eyes.
_Will._ Didst thou ever see better weather to run away
with another man’s wife, or play with a wench at
pot-finger? 9
_Shakebag._ No; this were a fine world for chandlers, if
this weather would last; for then a man should
never dine nor sup without candle-light. But,
sirrah Will, what horses are those that passed?
_Will._ Why, didst thou hear any?
_Shakebag._ Ay, that I did.
_Will._ My life for thine, ’twas Arden, and his companion,
and then all our labour’s lost.
_Shakebag._ Nay, say not so, for if it be they, they may
haply lose their way as we have done, and then we
may chance meet with them. 20
_Will._ Come, let us go on like a couple of blind pilgrims.
[_Then Shakebag falls into a ditch._
_Shakebag._ Help, Will, help, I am almost drowned.
_Here enters the Ferryman._
_Ferryman._ Who’s that that calls for help?
_Will._ ’Twas none here, ’twas thou thyself.
_Ferryman._ I came to help him that called for help.
Why, how now? who is this that’s in the ditch?
You are well enough served to go without a guide
such weather as this.
_Will._ Sirrah, what companies hath passed your ferry
this morning? 30
_Ferryman._ None but a couple of gentlemen, that went
to dine at my Lord Cheiny’s.
_Will._ Shakebag, did not I tell thee as much?
Ferryman. Why, sir, will you have any letters carried
to them?
_Will._ No, sir; get you gone.
_Ferryman._ Did you ever see such a mist as this?
_Will._ No, nor such a fool as will rather be hought than
get his way.
_Ferryman._ Why, sir, this is no Hough-Monday; you
are deceived.--What’s his name, I pray you, sir? 41
_Shakebag._ His name is Black Will.
_Ferryman._ I hope to see him one day hanged upon a
hill. [_Exit Ferryman._
_Shakebag._ See how the sun hath cleared the foggy mist,
Now we have missed the mark of our intent.
_Here enters Greene, Mosbie, and Alice._
_Mosbie._ Black Will and Shakebag, what make you here?
What, is the deed done? is Arden dead?
_Will._ What could a blinded man perform in arms?
Saw you not how till now the sky was dark, 50
That neither horse nor man could be discerned?
Yet did we hear their horses as they passed.
_Greene._ Have they escaped you, then, and passed the ferry?
_Shakebag_. Ay, for a while; but here we two will stay,
And at their coming back meet with them once more.
Zounds, I was ne’er so toiled in all my life
In following so slight a task as this.
_Mosbie._ How cam’st thou so berayed?
_Will._ With making false footing in the dark;
He needs would follow them without a guide. 60
_Alice._ Here’s to pay for a fire and good cheer:
Get you to Feversham to the Flower-de-luce,
And rest yourselves until some other time.
_Greene._ Let me alone; it most concerns my state.
_Will._ Ay, Mistress Arden, this will serve the turn,
In case we fall into a second fog.
[_Exeunt Greene, Will, and Shakebag._
_Mosbie._ These knaves will never do it, let us give it over.
_Alice._ First tell me how you like my new device:
Soon, when my husband is returning back,
You and I both marching arm in arm, 70
Like loving friends, we’ll meet him on the way,
And boldly beard and brave him to his teeth.
When words grow hot and blows begin to rise,
I’ll call those cutters forth your tenement,
Who, in a manner to take up the fray,
Shall wound my husband Hornsby to the death.
_Mosbie._ A fine device! why, this deserves a kiss.
[_Exeunt._
IV. iii. 40. Hock Monday followed the second Sunday after
Easter. See Brand’s _Popular Antiquities_.
IV. iii. 68. Our poet blackens Mosbie for the same reason that
he whitewashes Arden, _e.g._: ‘Master Arden both then and at other
times had been greatly provoked by Mosbie to fight with him, but
he would not.’ ‘Mosby at the first would not agree to that
cowardly murdering of him.’--Holinshed.
SCENE IV
_The open country._
_Here enters Dick Reede and a Sailor._
_Sailor._ Faith, Dick Reede, it is to little end:
His conscience is too liberal, and he too niggardly
To part from any thing may do thee good.
_Reede._ He is coming from Shorlow as I understand;
Here I’ll intercept him, for at his house
He never will vouchsafe to speak with me.
If prayers and fair entreaties will not serve,
Or make no battery in his flinty breast,
_Here enters Franklin, Arden, and Michael._
I’ll curse the carle, and see what that will do.
See where he comes to further my intent!-- 10
Master Arden, I am now bound to the sea;
My coming to you was about the plat
Of ground which wrongfully you detain from me.
Although the rent of it be very small,
Yet it will help my wife and children,
Which here I leave in Feversham, God knows,
Needy and bare: for Christ’s sake, let them have it!
_Arden._ Franklin, hearest thou this fellow speak?
That which he craves I dearly bought of him,
Although the rent of it was ever mine.-- 20
Sirrah, you that ask these questions,
If with thy clamorous impeaching tongue
Thou rail on me, as I have heard thou dost,
I’ll lay thee up so close a twelve-month’s day,
As thou shalt neither see the sun nor moon.
Look to it, for, as surely as I live,
I’ll banish pity if thou use me thus.
_Reede._ What, wilt thou do me wrong and threat me too,
Nay, then, I’ll tempt thee, Arden, do thy worst.
God, I beseech thee, show some miracle 30
On thee or thine, in plaguing thee for this.
That plot of ground which thou detains from me,
I speak it in an agony of spirit,
Be ruinous and fatal unto thee!
Either there be butchered by thy dearest friends,
Or else be brought for men to wonder at,
Or thou or thine miscarry in that place,
Or there run mad and end thy cursèd days!
_Franklin._ Fie, bitter knave, bridle thine envious tongue;
For curses are like arrows shot upright, 40
Which falling down light on the shooter’s head.
_Reede._ Light where they will! Were I upon the sea,
As oft I have in many a bitter storm,
And saw a dreadful southern flaw at hand,
The pilot quaking at the doubtful storm,
And all the sailors praying on their knees,
Even in that fearful time would I fall down,
And ask of God, whate’er betide of me,
Vengeance on Arden or some misevent
To show the world what wrong the carle hath done.
This charge I’ll leave with my distressful wife, 51
My children shall be taught such prayers as these;
And thus I go, but leave my curse with thee.
[_Exeunt Reede and Sailor._
_Arden._ It is the railingest knave in Christendom,
And oftentimes the villain will be mad;
It greatly matters not what he says,
But I assure you I ne’er did him wrong.
_Franklin._ I think so, Master Arden.
_Arden._ Now that our horses are gone home before,
My wife may haply meet me on the way. 60
For God knows she is grown passing kind of late,
And greatly changed from
The old humour of her wonted frowardness,
And seeks by fair means to redeem old faults.
_Franklin._ Happy the change that alters for the best!
But see in any case you make no speech
Of the cheer we had at my Lord Cheiny’s,
Although most bounteous and liberal,
For that will make her think herself more wronged,
In that we did not carry her along; 70
For sure she grieved that she was left behind.
_Arden._ Come, Franklin, let us strain to mend our pace,
And take her unawares playing the cook;
_Here enters Alice and Mosbie._
For I believe she’ll strive to mend our cheer.
_Franklin._ Why, there’s no better creatures in the world,
Than women are when they are in good humours.
_Arden._ Who is that? Mosbie? what, so familiar?
Injurious strumpet, and thou ribald knave,
Untwine those arms.
_Alice._ Ay, with a sugared kiss let them untwine. 80
_Arden._ Ah, Mosbie! perjured beast! bear this and all!
_Mosbie._ And yet no horned beast; the horns are thine.
_Franklin._ O monstrous! Nay, then it is time to draw.
_Alice._ Help, help! they murder my husband.
_Here enters Will and Shakebag._
_Shakebag._ Zounds, who injures Master Mosbie? Help, Will! I am hurt.
_Mosbie._ I may thank you, Mistress Arden, for this wound.
[_Exeunt Mosbie, Will, and Shakebag._
_Alice._ Ah, Arden, what folly blinded thee?
Ah, jealous harebrained man, what hast thou done!
When we, to welcome thee with intended sport,
Came lovingly to meet thee on thy way, 90
Thou drew’st thy sword, enraged with jealousy,
And hurt thy friend whose thoughts were free from harm:
All for a worthless kiss and joining arms,
Both done but merrily to try thy patience.
And me unhappy that devised the jest,
Which, though begun in sport, yet ends in blood!
_Franklin._ Marry, God defend me from such a jest!
_Alice._ Could’st thou not see us friendly smile on thee,
When we joined arms, and when I kissed his cheek?
Hast thou not lately found me over-kind? 100
Did’st thou not hear me cry ‘they murder thee’?
Called I not help to set my husband free?
No, ears and all were witched; ah me accursed
To link in liking with a frantic man!
Henceforth I’ll be thy slave, no more thy wife,
For with that name I never shall content thee.
If I be merry, thou straightways thinks me light;
If sad, thou sayest the sullens trouble me;
If well attired, thou thinks I will be gadding;
If homely, I seem sluttish in thine eye: 110
Thus am I still, and shall be while I die.
Poor wench abused by thy misgovernment!
_Arden._ But is it for truth that neither thou nor he
Intendedst malice in your misdemeanour?
_Alice._ The heavens can witness of our harmless thoughts
_Arden._ Then pardon me, sweet Alice, and forgive this fault!
Forget but this and never see the like.
Impose me penance, and I will perform it,
For in thy discontent I find a death,--
A death tormenting more than death itself. 120
_Alice._ Nay, had’st thou loved me as thou dost pretend,
Thou wouldst have marked the speeches of thy friend,
Who going wounded from the place, he said
His skin was pierced only through my device;
And if sad sorrow taint thee for this fault,
Thou would’st have followed him, and seen him dressed,
And cried him mercy whom thou hast misdone:
Ne’er shall my heart be eased till this be done.
_Arden._ Content thee, sweet Alice, thou shalt have thy will,
Whate’er it be. For that I injured thee, 130
And wronged my friend, shame scourgeth my offence;
Come thou thyself, and go along with me,
And be a mediator ’twixt us two.
_Franklin._ Why, Master Arden! know you what you do?
Will you follow him that hath dishonoured you?
_Alice._ Why, canst thou prove I have been disloyal?
_Franklin._ Why, Mosbie taunted your husband with the horn.
_Alice._ Ay, after he had reviled him
By the injurious name of perjured beast:
He knew no wrong could spite a jealous man 140
More than the hateful naming of the horn.
_Franklin._ Suppose ’tis true; yet is it dangerous
To follow him whom he hath lately hurt.
_Alice._ A fault confessed is more than half amends;
But men of such ill spirit as yourself
Work crosses and debates ’twixt man and wife.
_Arden._ I pray thee, gentle Franklin, hold thy peace:
I know my wife counsels me for the best.
I’ll seek out Mosbie where his wound is dressed,
And salve this hapless quarrel if I may. 150
[_Exeunt Arden and Alice._
_Franklin._ He whom the devil drives must go perforce.
Poor gentleman, how soon he is bewitched!
And yet, because his wife is the instrument,
His friends must not be lavish in their speech.
[_Exit Franklin._
IV. iv. 88. _harebrain_, A, B, C.
IV. iv. 89. _welcome thee with intended_; so Warnke for _welcome
thy intended_, A, B, C.
ACT V
SCENE I
_A Street in Feversham._
_Here enters Will, Shakebag, and Greene._
_Will._ Sirrah Greene, when was I so long in killing a man?
_Greene._ I think we shall never do it; let us give it over.
_Shakebag._ Nay, Zounds! we’ll kill him, though we be
hanged at his door for our labour.
_Will._ Thou knowest, Greene, that I have lived in London
this twelve years, where I have made some go
upon wooden legs for taking the wall on me; divers
with silver noses for saying ‘There goes Black Will!’
I have cracked as many blades as thou hast nuts.
_Greene._ O monstrous lie! 10
_Will._ Faith, in a manner I have. The bawdy-houses
have paid me tribute; there durst not a whore set
up, unless she have agreed with me first for opening
her shop-windows. For a cross word of a tapster
I have pierced one barrel after another with my
dagger, and held him by the ears till all his beer
hath run out. In Thames Street a brewer’s cart
was like to have run over me: I made no more ado,
but went to the clerk and cut all the notches of his
tallies and beat them about his head. I and my
company have taken the constable from his watch,
and carried him about the fields on a coltstaff. I
have broken a sergeant’s head with his own mace,
and bailed whom I list with my sword and buckler.
All the tenpenny-alehouses-men would stand every
morning with a quart-pot in their hand, saying,
‘Will it please your worship drink?’ He that had
not done so, had been sure to have had his sign
pulled down and his lattice borne away the next
night. To conclude, what have I not done? yet
cannot do this; doubtless, he is preserved by
miracle. 32
_Here enters Alice and Michael._
_Greene._ Hence, Will! here comes Mistress Arden.
_Alice._ Ah, gentle Michael, art thou sure they’re friends?
_Michael._ Why, I saw them when they both shook hands.
When Mosbie bled, he even wept for sorrow,
And railed on Franklin that was cause of all.
No sooner came the surgeon in at doors,
But my master took to his purse and gave him money,
And, to conclude, sent me to bring you word 40
That Mosbie, Franklin, Bradshaw, Adam Fowle,
With divers of his neighbours and his friends,
Will come and sup with you at our house this night.
_Alice._ Ah, gentle Michael, run thou back again,
And, when my husband walks into the fair,
Bid Mosbie steal from him and come to me;
And this night shall thou and Susan be made sure.
_Michael._ I’ll go tell him.
_Alice._ And as thou goest, tell John cook of our guests,
And bid him lay it on, spare for no cost. 50
[_Exit Michael._
_Will._ Nay, and there be such cheer, we will bid ourselves.--
Mistress Arden, Dick Greene and I do mean to sup with you.
_Alice._ And welcome shall you be. Ah, gentlemen,
How missed you of your purpose yesternight?
_Greene._ ’Twas ’long of Shakebag, that unlucky villain.
_Shakebag._ Thou dost me wrong; I did as much as any.
_Will._ Nay then, Mistress Arden, I’ll tell you how it was:
When he should have locked with both his hilts,
He in a bravery flourished o’er his head;
With that comes Franklin at him lustily, 60
And hurts the slave; with that he slinks away.
Now his way had been to have come hand and feet,
one and two round, at his costard; he like a fool
bears his sword-point half a yard out of danger.
I lie here for my life; if the devil come, and he
have no more strength than I have fence, he shall
never beat me from this ward, I’ll stand to it; a
buckler in a skilful hand is as good as a castle;
nay, ’tis better than a sconce, for I have tried it. 70
Mosbie, perceiving this, began to faint:
With that comes Arden with his arming sword,
And thrust him through the shoulder in a trice.
_Alice._ Ay, but I wonder why you both stood still.
_Will._ Faith, I was so amazed, I could not strike.
_Alice._ Ah, sirs, had he yesternight been slain,
For every drop of his detested blood
I would have crammed in angels in thy fist,
And kissed thee, too, and hugged thee in my arms.
_Will._ Patient yourself, we cannot help it now. 80
Greene and we two will dog him through the fair,
And stab him in the crowd, and steal away.
_Here enters Mosbie._
_Alice._ It is unpossible; but here comes he
That will, I hope, invent some surer means.
Sweet Mosbie, hide thy arm, it kills my heart.
_Mosbie._ Ay, Mistress Arden, this is your favour.
_Alice._ Ah, say not so; for when I saw thee hurt,
I could have took the weapon thou let’st fall,
And run at Arden; for I have sworn
That these mine eyes, offended with his sight, 90
Shall never close till Arden’s be shut up.
This night I rose and walked about the chamber,
And twice or thrice I thought to have murdered him.
_Mosbie_. What, in the night? then had we been undone.
_Alice._ Why, how long shall he live?
_Mosbie._ Faith, Alice, no longer than this night.--
Black Will and Shakebag, will you two perform
The complot that I have laid?
_Will._ Ay, or else think me a villain.
_Greene._ And rather than you shall want, I’ll help myself.
_Mosbie._ You, Master Greene, shall single Franklin forth,
And hold him with a long tale of strange news, 102
That he may not come home till supper-time.
I’ll fetch Master Arden home, and we like friends
Will play a game or two at tables here.
_Alice._ But what of all this? how shall he be slain?
_Mosbie._ Why, Black Will and Shakebag locked within the counting-house
Shall at a certain watchword given rush forth.
_Will._ What shall the watchword be?
_Mosbie._ ‘Now I take you’; that shall be the word: 110
But come not forth before in any case.
_Will._ I warrant you. But who shall lock me in?
_Alice._ That will I do; thou’st keep the key thyself.
_Mosbie._ Come, Master Greene, go you along with me.
See all things ready, Alice, against we come.
_Alice._ Take no care for that; send you him home.
[_Exeunt Mosbie and Greene._
And if he e’er go forth again, blame me.
Come, Black Will, that in mine eyes art fair;
Next unto Mosbie do I honour thee;
Instead of fair words and large promises 120
My hands shall play you golden harmony:
How like you this? say, will you do it, sirs?
_Will._ Ay, and that bravely, too. Mark my device:
Place Mosbie, being a stranger, in a chair,
And let your husband sit upon a stool,
That I may come behind him cunningly,
And with a towel pull him to the ground,
Then stab him till his flesh be as a sieve;
That done, bear him behind the Abbey,
That those that find him murdered may suppose 130
Some slave or other killed him for his gold.
_Alice._ A fine device! you shall have twenty pound,
And, when he is dead, you shall have forty more,
And, lest you might be suspected staying here,
Michael shall saddle you two lusty geldings;
Ride whither you will, to Scotland, or to Wales,
I’ll see you shall not lack, where’er you be.
_Will._ Such words would make one kill a thousand men!
Give me the key: which is the counting-house?
_Alice._ Here would I stay and still encourage you; 140
But that I know how resolute you are.
_Shakebag._ Tush, you are too faint-hearted; we must do it.
_Alice._ But Mosbie will be there, whose very looks
Will add unwonted courage to my thought,
And make me the first that shall adventure on him.
_Will._ Tush, get you gone; ’tis we must do the deed.
When this door opens next, look for his death.
[_Exeunt Will and Shakebag._
_Alice._ Ah, would he now were here that it might open!
I shall no more be closed in Arden’s arms,
That like the snakes of black Tisiphone 150
Sting me with their embracings! Mosbie’s arms
Shall compass me, and, were I made a star,
I would have none other spheres but those.
There is no nectar but in Mosbie’s lips!
Had chaste Diana kissed him, she like me
Would grow love-sick, and from her watery bower
Fling down Endymion and snatch him up:
Then blame not me that slay a silly man
Not half so lovely as Endymion.
_Here enters Michael._
_Michael._ Mistress, my master is coming hard by. 160
_Alice._ Who comes with him?
_Michael._ Nobody but Mosbie.
_Alice._ That’s well, Michael. Fetch in the tables, and
when thou hast done, stand before the counting-house door.
_Michael._ Why so?
_Alice._ Black Will is locked within to do the deed.
_Michael._ What? shall he die to-night?
_Alice._ Ay, Michael.
_Michael._ But shall not Susan know it?
_Alice._ Yes, for she’ll be as secret as ourselves. 170
_Michael._ That’s brave. I’ll go fetch the tables.
Alice. But, Michael, hark to me a word or two:
When my husband is come in, lock the street-door;
He shall be murdered, or the guests come in.
[_Exit Michael._
_Here enters Arden and Mosbie._
Husband, what mean you to bring Mosbie home?
Although I wished you to be reconciled,
’Twas more for fear of you than love of him.
Black Will and Greene are his companions,
And they are cutters, and may cut you short:
Therefore I thought it good to make you friends. 180
But wherefore do you bring him hither now?
You have given me my supper with his sight.
_Mosbie._ Master Arden, methinks your wife would have me gone.
_Arden._ No, good Master Mosbie; women will be prating.
Alice, bid him welcome; he and I are friends.
_Alice._ You may enforce me to it, if you will;
But I had rather die than bid him welcome.
His company hath purchased me ill friends,
And therefore will I ne’er frequent it more.
_Mosbie._--Oh, how cunningly she can dissemble! 190
_Arden._ Now he is here, you will not serve me so.
_Alice._ I pray you be not angry or displeased;
I’ll bid him welcome, seeing you’ll have it so.
You are welcome, Master Mosbie; will you sit down?
_Mosbie._ I know I am welcome to your loving husband;
But for yourself, you speak not from your heart.
_Alice._ And if I do not, sir, think I have cause.
_Mosbie._ Pardon me, Master Arden; I’ll away.
_Arden._ No, good Master Mosbie.
_Alice._ We shall have guests enough, though you go hence. 200
_Mosbie._ I pray you, Master Arden, let me go.
_Arden._ I pray thee, Mosbie, let her prate her fill.
_Alice._ The doors are open, sir, you may be gone.
_Michael._--Nay, that’s a lie, for I have locked the doors.
_Arden._ Sirrah, fetch me a cup of wine, I’ll make them friends.
And, gentle Mistress Alice, seeing you are so stout,
You shall begin! frown not, I’ll have it so.
_Alice._ I pray you meddle with that you have to do.
_Arden._ Why, Alice! how can I do too much for him
Whose life I have endangered without cause? 210
_Alice._ ’Tis true; and, seeing ’twas partly through my means,
I am content to drink to him for this once.
Here, Master Mosbie! and I pray you, henceforth
Be you as strange to me as I to you.
Your company hath purchased me ill friends,
And I for you, God knows, have undeserved
Been ill spoken of in every place;
Therefore henceforth frequent my house no more.
_Mosbie._ I’ll see your husband in despite of you.
Yet, Arden, I protest to thee by heaven, 220
Thou ne’er shalt see me more after this night,
I’ll go to Rome rather than be forsworn.
_Arden._ Tush, I’ll have no such vows made in my house.
_Alice._ Yes, I pray you, husband, let him swear;
And, on that condition, Mosbie, pledge me here.
_Mosbie._ Ay, as willingly as I mean to live.
_Arden._ Come, Alice, is our supper ready yet?
_Alice._ It will by then you have played a game at tables.
_Arden._ Come, Master Mosbie, what shall we play for?
_Mosbie._ Three games for a French crown, sir, and please you. 230
_Arden._ Content.
[_Then they play at the tables. Enter Will and Shakebag._
_Will._--Can he not take him yet? what a spite is that?
_Alice._--Not yet, Will; take heed he see thee not.
_Will._--I fear he will spy me as I am coming.
_Michael._--To prevent that, creep betwixt my legs.
_Mosbie._ One ace, or else I lose the game.
_Arden._ Marry, sir, there’s two for failing.
_Mosbie._ Ah, Master Arden, ‘now I can take you.’
[_Then Will pulls him down with a towel._
_Arden._ Mosbie! Michael! Alice! what will you do?
_Will._ Nothing but take you up, sir, nothing else. 240
_Mosbie._ There’s for the pressing iron you told me of. [_Stabs him._
_Shakebag._ And there’s for the ten pound in my sleeve. [_Stabs him._
_Alice._ What! groans thou? nay, then give me the weapon!
Take this for hindering Mosbie’s love and mine. [_She stabs him._
_Michael._ O, mistress!
_Will._ Ah, that villain will betray us all.
_Mosbie._ Tush, fear him not; he will be secret.
_Michael._ Why, dost thou think I will betray myself?
_Shakebag._ In Southwark dwells a bonny northern lass,
The widow Chambly; I’ll to her house now, 250
And if she will not give me harborough,
I’ll make booty of the quean even to her smock.
_Will._ Shift for yourselves; we two will leave you now.
_Alice._ First lay the body in the counting-house.
[_Then they lay the body in the Counting-house._
_Will._ We have our gold; Mistress Alice, adieu;
Mosbie, farewell, and Michael, farewell too. [_Exeunt._
_Enter Susan._
_Susan._ Mistress, the guests are at the doors.
Hearken, they knock: what, shall I let them in?
_Alice._ Mosbie, go thou and bear them company. [_Exit Mosbie._
And, Susan, fetch water and wash away this blood.
_Susan._ The blood cleaveth to the ground and will not out. 261
_Alice._ But with my nails I’ll scrape away the blood;--
The more I strive, the more the blood appears!
_Susan._ What’s the reason, Mistress, can you tell?
_Alice._ Because I blush not at my husband’s death.
_Here enters Mosbie._
_Mosbie._ How now? what’s the matter? is all well?
_Alice._ Ay, well, if Arden were alive again.
In vain we strive, for here his blood remains.
_Mosbie._ Why, strew rushes on it, can you not?
This wench doth nothing: fall unto the work. 270
_Alice._ ’Twas thou that made me murder him.
_Mosbie._ What of that?
_Alice._ Nay, nothing, Mosbie, so it be not known.
_Mosbie._ Keep thou it close, and ’tis unpossible.
_Alice._ Ah, but I cannot! was he not slain by me?
My husband’s death torments me at the heart.
_Mosbie._ It shall not long torment thee, gentle Alice;
I am thy husband, think no more of him.
_Here enters Adam Fowle and Bradshaw._
_Bradshaw._ How now, Mistress Arden? what ail you weep?
_Mosbie._ Because her husband is abroad so late. 280
A couple of ruffians threatened him yesternight,
And she, poor soul, is afraid he should be hurt.
_Adam._ Is’t nothing else? tush, he’ll be here anon.
_Here enters Greene._
_Greene._ Now, Mistress Arden, lack you any guests?
_Alice._ Ah, Master Greene, did you see my husband lately?
_Greene._ I saw him walking behind the Abbey even now.
_Here enters Franklin._
_Alice._ I do not like this being out so late.--
Master Franklin, where did you leave my husband?
_Franklin._ Believe me I saw him not since morning.
Fear you not, he’ll come anon; meantime 290
You may do well to bid his guests sit down.
_Alice._ Ay, so they shall; Master Bradshaw, sit you there;
I pray you, be content, I’ll have my will.
Master Mosbie, sit you in my husband’s seat.
_Michael._--Susan, shall thou and I wait on them?
Or, an thou sayest the word, let us sit down too.
_Susan._--Peace, we have other matters now in hand.
I fear me, Michael, all will be bewrayed.
_Michael._--Tush, so it be known that I shall marry thee
in the morning, I care not though I be hanged ere
night. But to prevent the worst, I’ll buy some ratsbane. 301
_Susan._--Why, Michael, wilt thou poison thyself?
_Michael._--No, but my mistress, for I fear she’ll tell.
_Susan._--Tush, Michael; fear not her, she’s wise enough.
_Mosbie._ Sirrah Michael, give’s a cup of beer.--
Mistress Arden, here’s to your husband.
_Alice._ My husband!
_Franklin._ What ails you, woman, to cry so suddenly?
_Alice._ Ah, neighbours, a sudden qualm came o’er my heart;
My husband being forth torments my mind. 310
I know something’s amiss, he is not well;
Or else I should have heard of him ere now.
_Mosbie._--She will undo us through her foolishness.
_Greene._ Fear not, Mistress Arden, he’s well enough.
_Alice._ Tell not me; I know he is not well:
He was not wont for to stay thus late.
Good Master Franklin, go and seek him forth,
And if you find him, send him home to me,
And tell him what a fear he hath put me in.
_Franklin._--I like not this; I pray God all be well. 320
I’ll seek him out, and find him if I can.
[_Exeunt Franklin, Mosbie, and Greene._
_Alice._--Michael, how shall I do to rid the rest away?
_Michael._--Leave that to my charge, let me alone.
’Tis very late, Master Bradshaw,
And there are many false knaves abroad,
And you have many narrow lanes to pass.
_Bradshaw._ Faith, friend Michael, and thou sayest true.
Therefore I pray thee light’s forth and lend’s a link.
[_Exeunt Bradshaw, Adam, and Michael._
_Alice._ Michael, bring them to the doors, but do not stay;
You know I do not love to be alone. 330
--Go, Susan, and bid thy brother come:
But wherefore should he come? Here is nought but fear;
Stay, Susan, stay, and help to counsel me.
_Susan._ Alas. I counsel! fear frights away my wits.
[_Then they open the counting-house door,
and look upon Arden._
_Alice._ See, Susan, where thy quondam master lies,
Sweet Arden, smeared in blood and filthy gore.
_Susan._ My brother, you, and I shall rue this deed.
_Alice._ Come, Susan, help to lift his body forth,
And let our salt tears be his obsequies.
_Here enters Mosbie and Greene._
_Mosbie._ How now, Alice, whither will you bear him?
_Alice._ Sweet Mosbie, art thou come? Then weep that will:
I have my wish in that I joy thy sight. 342
_Greene._ Well, it behoves us to be circumspect.
_Mosbie._ Ay, for Franklin thinks that we have murdered him.
_Alice._ Ay, but he cannot prove it for his life.
We’ll spend this night in dalliance and in sport.
_Here enters Michael._
_Michael._ O mistress, the Mayor and all the watch
Are coming towards our house with glaives and bills.
_Alice._ Make the door fast; let them not come in.
_Mosbie._ Tell me, sweet Alice, how shall I escape? 350
_Alice._ Out at the back-door, over the pile of wood,
And for one night lie at the Flower-de-luce.
_Mosbie._ That is the next way to betray myself.
_Greene._ Alas, Mistress Arden, the watch will take me hers,
And cause suspicion, where else would be none.
_Alice._ Why, take that way that Master Mosbie doth;
But first convey the body to the fields.
[_Then they bear the body into the fields._
_Mosbie._ Until to-morrow, sweet Alice, now farewell:
And see you confess nothing in any case.
_Greene._ Be resolute, Mistress Alice, betray us not, 360
But cleave to us as we will stick to you.
[_Exeunt Mosbie and Greene._
_Alice._ Now, let the judge and juries do their worst:
My house is clear, and now I fear them not.
_Susan._ As we went, it snowed all the way,
Which makes me fear our footsteps will be spied.
_Alice._ Peace, fool, the snow will cover them again.
_Susan._ But it had done before we came back again.
_Alice._ Hark, hark, they knock! go, Michael, let them in.
_Here enters the Mayor and the Watch._
How now, Master Mayor, have you brought my husband home?
_Mayor._ I saw him come into your house an hour ago. 370
_Alice._ You are deceived; it was a Londoner.
_Mayor._ Mistress Arden, know you not one that is called Black Will?
_Alice._ I know none such: what mean these questions?
_Mayor._ I have the Council’s warrant to apprehend him.
_Alice._--I am glad it is no worse.
Why, Master Mayor, think you I harbour any such?
_Mayor._ We are informed that here he is;
And therefore pardon us, for we must search.
_Alice._ Ay, search, and spare you not, through every room:
Were my husband at home, you would not offer this. 380
_Here enters Franklin._
Master Franklin, what mean you come so sad?
_Franklin._ Arden, thy husband and my friend, is slain.
_Alice._ Ah, by whom? Master Franklin, can you tell?
_Franklin._ I know not; but behind the Abbey
There he lies murdered in most piteous case.
_Mayor._ But, Master Franklin, are you sure ’tis he?
_Franklin._ I am too sure; would God I were deceived.
_Alice._ Find out the murderers, let them be known.
_Franklin._ Ay, so they shall: come you along with us.
_Alice._ Wherefore? 390
_Franklin._ Know you this hand-towel and this knife?
_Susan._--Ah, Michael, through this thy negligence
Thou hast betrayed and undone us all.
_Michael._--I was so afraid I knew not what I did:
I thought I had thrown them both into the well.
_Alice._ It is the pig’s blood we had to supper.
But wherefore stay you? find out the murderers.
_Mayor._ I fear me you’ll prove one of them yourself.
_Alice._ I one of them? what mean such questions?
_Franklin._ I fear me he was murdered in this house 400
And carried to the fields; for from that place
Backwards and forwards may you see
The print of many feet within the snow.
And look about this chamber where we are,
And you shall find part of his guiltless blood;
For in his slipshoe did I find some rushes,
Which argueth he was murdered in this room.
_Mayor._ Look in the place where he was wont to sit.
See, see! his blood! it is too manifest.
_Alice._ It is a cup of wine that Michael shed. 410
_Michael._ Ay, truly.
_Franklin._ It is his blood, which, strumpet, thou hast shed.
But if I live, thou and thy ’complices
Which have conspired and wrought his death shall rue it.
_Alice._ Ah, Master Franklin, God and heaven can tell
I loved him more than all the world beside.
But bring me to him, let me see his body.
_Franklin._ Bring that villain and Mosbie’s sister too;
And one of you go to the Flower-de-luce,
And seek for Mosbie, and apprehend him too. 420
[_Exeunt._
V. i. 58. _Hilts_ is common for ‘hilt,’ _e.g._ in Malory and Shakespeare;
‘_both his hilts_’ is apparently an extension of this use.
_Locked_ I take to mean ‘crossed or clashed swords,’ with his
adversary.
V. i. 105. _game or two at tables_: a sort of backgammon.
V. i. 155. Cf. the concluding lines of Ovid’s _Elegy_, already
alluded to, i. 60.
V. i. 338. ‘Cecily Pounders did help to bear the dead corpse out
into a meadow there, commonly called the Amery Croft.’--_Wardmote
Book._
SCENE II
_An obscure street in London._
_Here enters Shakebag solus._
_Shakebag._ The widow Chambly in her husband’s days I kept;
And now he’s dead, she is grown so stout
She will not know her old companions.
I came thither, thinking to have had harbour
As I was wont,
And she was ready to thrust me out at doors;
But whether she would or no, I got me up,
And as she followed me, I spurned her down the stairs,
And broke her neck, and cut her tapster’s throat,
And now I am going to fling them in the Thames.
I have the gold; what care I though it be known!
I’ll cross the water and take sanctuary.
[_Exit._
SCENE III
_Arden’s House at Feversham._
_Here enters the Mayor, Mosbie, Alice, Franklin,
Michael, and Susan._
_Mayor._ See, Mistress Arden, where your husband lies;
Confess this foul fault and be penitent.
_Alice._ Arden, sweet husband, what shall I say?
The more I sound his name, the more he bleeds;
This blood condemns me, and in gushing forth
Speaks as it falls, and asks me why I did it.
Forgive me, Arden: I repent me now,
And, would my death save thine, thou should’st not die.
Rise up, sweet Arden, and enjoy thy love,
And frown not on me when we meet in heaven: 10
In heaven I’ll love thee, though on earth I did not.
_Mayor._ Say, Mosbie, what made thee murder him?
_Franklin._ Study not for an answer; look not down:
His purse and girdle found at thy bed’s head
Witness sufficiently thou didst the deed;
It bootless is to swear thou didst it not.
_Mosbie._ I hired Black Will and Shakebag, ruffians both,
And they and I have done this murderous deed.
But wherefore stay we? Come and bear me hence.
_Franklin._ Those ruffians shall not escape; I will up to London, 20
And get the Council’s warrant to apprehend them.
[_Exeunt._
SCENE IV
_The Kentish Coast._
_Here enters Will._
_Will._ Shakebag, I hear, hath taken sanctuary,
But I am so pursued with hues and cries
For petty robberies that I have done,
That I can come unto no sanctuary.
Therefore must I in some oyster-boat
At last be fain to go on board some hoy,
And so to Flushing. There is no staying here.
At Sittingburgh the watch was like to take me,
And had not I with my buckler covered my head,
And run full blank at all adventures, 10
I am sure I had ne’er gone further than that place;
For the constable had twenty warrants to apprehend me,
Besides that, I robbed him and his man once at Gadshill.
Farewell, England; I’ll to Flushing now.
[_Exit Will._
V. iv. 5. Faversham was famous for its oysters.
SCENE V
_Justice-room at Feversham._
_Here enters the Mayor, Mosbie, Alice, Michael, Susan,
and Bradshaw._
_Mayor._ Come, make haste and bring away the prisoners.
_Bradshaw._ Mistress Arden, you are now going to God,
And I am by the law condemned to die
About a letter I brought from Master Greene.
I pray you, Mistress Arden, speak the truth:
Was I ever privy to your intent or no.
_Alice._ What should I say? You brought me such a letter,
But I dare swear thou knewest not the contents.
Leave now to trouble me with worldly things,
And let me meditate upon my saviour Christ, 10
Whose blood must save me for the blood I shed.
_Mosbie._ How long shall I live in this hell of grief?
Convey me from the presence of that strumpet.
_Alice._ Ah, but for thee I had never been a strumpet.
What cannot oaths and protestations do,
When men have opportunity to woo?
I was too young to sound thy villainies,
But now I find it and repent too late.
_Susan._ Ah, gentle brother, wherefore should I die?
I knew not of it till the deed was done. 20
_Mosbie._ For thee I mourn more than for myself;
But let it suffice, I cannot save thee now.
_Michael._ And if your brother and my mistress
Had not promised me you in marriage,
I had ne’er given consent to this foul deed.
_Mayor._ Leave to accuse each other now,
And listen to the sentence I shall give.
Bear Mosbie and his sister to London straight,
Where they in Smithfield must be executed;
Bear Mistress Arden unto Canterbury, 30
Where her sentence is she must be burnt;
Michael and Bradshaw in Feversham must suffer death.
_Alice._ Let my death make amends for all my sins.
_Mosbie._ Fie upon women! this shall be my song;
But bear me hence, for I have lived too long.
_Susan._ Seeing no hope on earth, in heaven is my hope.
_Michael._ Faith, I care not, seeing I die with Susan.
_Bradshaw._ My blood be on his head that gave the sentence.
_Mayor._ To speedy execution with them all! [_Exeunt._
V. v. 30. ‘For the charges of brenning Mistress Arden and
execution of George Bradshaw, XLIII S.’--_Canterbury Records._
SCENE VI
_Here enters Franklin._
_Franklin._ Thus have you seen the truth of Arden’s death.
As for the ruffians, Shakebag and Black Will,
The one took sanctuary, and, being sent for out,
Was murdered in Southwark as he passed
To Greenwich, where the Lord Protector lay.
Black Will was burned in Flushing on a stage;
Greene was hanged at Osbridge in Kent;
The painter fled and how he died we know not.
But this above the rest is to be noted:
Arden lay murdered in that plot of ground 10
Which he by force and violence held from Reede;
And in the grass his body’s print was seen
Two years and more after the deed was done.
Gentlemen, we hope you’ll pardon this naked tragedy,
Wherein no filèd points are foisted in
To make it gracious to the ear or eye;
For simple truth is gracious enough,
And needs no other points of glosing stuff. [_Exit._
V. vi. 2. By the _Wardmote Book_, ‘George Loosebagg, _i.e._
Shakebag, escaped at that time.’ John Green, who like Mosbie
was a tailor, was taken in July in Cornwall and brought to Faversham
and hanged in chains within the liberties. Susan, in the
play, combines the characters of Cecily Pounder, Mosbie’s sister,
and of Elizabeth Stafford, the maid-servant. Morsby and his
sister were hanged in Smithfield; Michael Saunderson was ‘drawn
and hanged in chains’ in Faversham, where Elizabeth was burnt.
By the _Wardmote Book_ Alice Arden did not stab her husband.
GLOSSARY
ABHORS FROM, differs entirely from; I. 54; an uncommon use. Dr. Murray
quotes _Fox, A. and M._; II. 357, ‘It did nothing at all abhor from
nature.’
ANGEL, the coin of that name; II. i. 89, etc.
ARMING SWORD, a large two-handed sword, V. i. 72.
BASILISK, a fabulous serpent supposed to kill by its look, a
cockatrice; I. 215. Cf. ‘Would they were basilisks to strike thee
dead.’--_Richard III._, III. ii. 151.
BEDEEM, forbode, ‘doom me to’; III. iii. 31; not quoted by Dr. Murray.
BEDESMAN, one who says prayers for another, ‘humble servant’; III. vi.
120.
BERAYED, befouled; IV. iii. 58. Cf. ‘Was ever man so rayed.’--_Shrew_,
IV. i. 3.
BEWRAYED, betrayed; III. ii. 27.
BLAB, talk; I. 135. Used both as a noun and a verb.
BLOCK, obstacle; I. 137.
BODKIN, a tailor’s awl; I. 313.
BOLSTERED, matted with blood; III. i. 73. Cf. ‘Blood-bolstered
Banquo.’--_Macbeth_, IV. i. 123.
BOTCHER, a jobbing tailor; I. 25, 316. Cf. Huloet, ‘A tailor, bodger,
botcher, mender or patcher of old garments.’
BRABLE, quarrel; IV. i. 77.
BROKAGE, petty dealing; here especially dealing in old clothes; I. 26.
BUGS, hobgoblins: III. ii. 19.
CAUSELESS, adv., without cause, I. 358.
CHOPS ME IN, interrupts suddenly; III. vi. 130; ‘me’ is a dative; chop
is used in the sense of doing quickly. Cf. _Richard III._, I. iv. 160,
‘Then we will chop him in the malmsey butt.’
COIL, trouble; III. vi. 5.
COISTRIL, a paltry young fellow; III. ii. 41, 58. Cf. _Twelfth Night_,
I. iii. 43, ‘A coward and a coistril.’
COPESMATE, market-mate, companion; III. v. 104. Cf. _Lucrece_, 925,
‘Misshapen Time, copesmate of ugly Night.’
COLTSTAFF, a staff used by two persons for carrying ‘cowls,’ _i.e._
tubs; V. i. 22. Cf. _Merry Wives_, III. iii. 156, ‘Where’s the
cowlstaff?’
COSTARD, head; V. i. 63; literally a large ribbed apple. Frequent in
Shakespeare.
CROWN, crown-piece; III. vi. 132.
CURST, shrewish; IV. ii. 12.
CUTTER, bully, cutthroat; I. 522; IV. iii. 74, etc. Cf. Harrison’s
_England_, II. 16, ‘Some desperate cutters we have.’
DAG, pistol; III. vi. 9, 131. The derivation is not known.
DALLYING, delaying, trifling; I. 397.
DISPOSE, disposal; I. 606. Common in Shakespeare.
DISTRESSFUL, miserable: III. v. 56; IV. iv. 51. Cf. _Henry V._, IV. i.
287, ‘Crammed with distressful bread.’
DRIFTS, plots; I. 178, 450, etc.
EAR, plough; III. v. 24.
ESCHEW, avoid; I. 347.
FLAW, gust of wind; IV. iv. 44.
FORSLOWED, delayed; III. v. 85. Cf. 3 _Henry VI._, II. iii. 56,
‘Forslow no longer.’
FOSTER, forester; III. iii. 13.
FROLIC, used as an exclamation = ‘cheer up’; I. 512. Cf. Kyd’s
_Jeronimo_, I. i. 1.
GIGLOT, a wanton woman, III. v. 87; connected with ‘giggle.’
GLAIVES, swords; V. i. 348.
GLOSING, wordy; V. vi. 18.
HANDSEL, confirm, seal; II. i. 117.
HARBOROUGH, old form of harbour; V. i. 251.
HORNSBY, cuckold; IV. iii. 76.
HOUGHT, hocked or hamstrung; IV. iii. 38.
IMPETRATE, get by asking; II. ii. 16.
JETS, struts; I. 30. Cf. _Cymbeline_, III. iii. 4, ‘Giants may jet
through.’
LAY IT ON, fall to work; V. i. 50. Cf. _Winter’s Tale_, IV. iii. 43,
‘My father hath made her mistress of the feast and she lays it on.’
LEAVE, cease; III. vi. 72, etc.
LORDAINE, clown, IV. i. 58.
MISEVENT, mishap; IV. iv. 49.
MISTAKING, misunderstanding; IV. i. 27.
MITHRIDATE, antidote; I. 383. Called after the famous King of Pontus,
who made himself poison-proof. Greene uses the word.
MUSCADO, musket; III. vi. 20.
MUTCHADO, moustache; II. i. 54.
PANTOFLES, slippers; II. ii. 9.
PASSIONATE, sorrowful; III. v. 45. Cf. _John II._, 544, ‘She is sad and
passionate.’
PLANCHERS, planks; I. 42. ‘Planched’ is found in _Measure for Measure_,
IV. i. 3.
PLATFORM, scheme; II. i. 100. Cf. 1 _Henry VI._, II. i. 77.
PRECISIAN, puritan; III. ii. 18.
_Prick-eared_, III. ii. 62; cf. _Henry V._, II. i. 44, ‘Prick-eared cur
of Iceland.’
QUALM, fit of nausea; III. vi. 67; V. i. 309.
QUARTERAGE, quarterly payment; II. ii. 98.
RACE, raze down; I. 47, 118.
RELIGIOUS, devout; I. 587.
SCONCE, small fort; V. i. 70.
SECURELY, without misgiving; I. 50.
SLIPSHOE, slipper; V. i. 406.
STANDINGS, place of vantage, ambush; III. vi. 38.
STOUT, proud, overbearing; V. i. 206, ii. 2. Cf. ‘I will be strange,
stout, in yellow stockings.’--_Twelfth Night_, II. v. 185, and 2 _Henry
VI._, I. i. 187.
SULLENS, moroseness; IV. iv. 108. Cf. _Richard II._, II. i. 139: ‘Let
them die that age and sullens have.’
SURE, betrothed; I. 151. Cf. _Merry Wives_, V. v. 237.
SUSPECT, suspicion; I. i. 130. Cf. Sonnet LXX. ‘The ornament of beauty
is suspect.’
TICING, enticing; I. 197.
TRUG, a drab; I. 499. Greene uses the word.
TRULL, worthless woman; I. 498.
TRUSS, tie up for hanging; III. vi. 125; here = ‘get yourself trussed.’
WATCHET, pale blue; II. i. 56.
WAGER, give a wage to; I. 523. Shakespeare uses ‘wage’ in this sense,
_Coriolanus_, V. vi. 40.
WHISTLY, silently; III. iii. 9.
YEOMANRY, homespun wit; IV. ii. 37.
[Illustration]
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Transcriber's Note
The following apparent printing errors have been corrected:
p. 4 "the field." changed to "the field,"
p. 6 "of men." changed to "of men,"
p. 10 "it me" changed to "it me."
p. 19 "true or no" changed to "true or no?"
p. 23 "neighhour" changed to "neighbour"
p. 30 line-number 90 changed to 93
p. 36 "heat." changed to "heat,"
p. 49 "dream" changed to "dream."
p. 69 "is death" changed to "is death."
p. 75 "my state," changed to "my state."
p. 97 "bills" changed to "bills."
p. 99 "knew now" changed to "knew not"
p. 102 "did not" changed to "did not."
p. 104 "a a letter" changed to "a letter"
p. 107 "_Merry Wives_, iII" changed to "_Merry Wives_, III"
p. 110 "adevrbially" changed to "adverbially"
p. 111 (note to II. i. 58) "‘Seam rent fellows," changed to "‘Seam
rent fellows,’"
p. 111 (note to III. i. 5) "sense" changed to "sense?"
Other inconsistent punctuation has been retained as printed, as have
inconsistent spellings.