_Room in_ Sir HUBERT SUBBOYS' _house_.
_Enter_ Sir HUBERT, Sir LIONEL, BEATRICE, CRISPINELLA,
_and_ Nurse, TYSEFEW _following_.
_Sir Lio._ Did no one see him since?--pray God!--nay, all is well.
A little heat; what? he is but withdrawn;
And yet I would to God!--but fear you nothing.
_Bea._ Pray God that all be well, or would I were not!
_Tyse._ He's not to be found, sir, anywhere.
_Sir Lio._ You must not make a heavy face presage an
ill event. I like your sister well, she's quick and lively:
would she would marry, faith.
_Cri._ Marry, nay and I would marry, methinks an old
man's a quiet thing. 10
_Sir Lio._ Ha, mass! and so he is.
_Cri._ You are a widower?
_Sir Lio._ That I am, i'faith, fair Crisp; and I can tell
you, would you affect me, I have it in me yet, i'faith.
_Cri._ Troth I am in love; let me see your hand:
would you cast yourself away upon me willingly?
_Sir Lio._ Will I? Ay, by the----
_Cri._ Would you be a cuckold willingly? By my
troth 'tis a comely, fine, and handsome sight, for one of
my years to marry an old man; truth, 'tis restorative;
what a comfortable thing it is to think of her husband,
to hear his venerable cough o' the everlastings, to feel
his rough skin, his summer hands and winter legs, his
almost no eyes, and assuredly no teeth; and then to
think what she must dream of, when she considers
others' happiness and her own want! 'tis a worthy and
notorious comfortable match. 27
_Sir Lio._ Pish, pish! will you have me?
_Cri._ Will you assure me----
_Sir Lio._ Five hundred pound jointure?
_Cri._ That you will die within this fortnight?
_Sir Lio._ No, by my faith, Cris.
_Cri._ Then Crisp by her faith assures you she'll have
none of you.
_Enter_ Young FREEVILL _disguised like a pander, and_
FRANCESCHINA.
_Free._ By'r leave, gentles and men of nightcaps, I would
speak, but that here stands one is able to express her
own tale best.
_Fra._ Sir, mine speech is to you; you had a son,
matre Freevill?
_Sir Lio._ Had, ha! and have. 40
_Fra._ No point,[87] me am come to assure you dat one
mestre Malheureux hath killed him.
_Bea._ O me! wretched, wretched!
_Sir Hub._ Look to our daughter.
_Sir Lio._ How art thou inform'd?
_Fra._ If dat it please you to go vid me, ick sall bring
you where you sall hear Malheureux vid his own lips
confess it, and dare ye may apprehend him, and revenge
your and mine love's blood.
_Sir Hub._ Your love's blood! mistress, was he your
love? 51
_Fra._ He was so, sir; let your daughter hear it: do
not veep, lady; de young man dat be slain did not love
you, for he still lovit me ten tousant tousant times more
dearly.
_Bea._ O my heart, I will love you the better; I cannot
hate what he affected. O passion, O my grief! which
way wilt break, think, and consume!
_Cri._ Peace!
_Bea._ Dear woes cannot speak. 60
_Fra._ For look you, lady, dis your ring he gave me,
vid most bitter jests at your scorn'd kindness.
_Bea._ He did not ill not to love me, but sure he did
not well to mock me: gentle minds will pity, though
they cannot love; yet peace and my love sleep with him.
Unlace, good nurse; alas! I was not so ambitious of so
supreme an happiness, that he should only love me;
'twas joy enough for me, poor soul, that I only might
only love him.
_Fra._ O but to be abused, scorn'd, scoff'd at! O ten
tousand divla, by such a one, and unto such a one! 71
_Bea._ I think you say not true, sister; shall we know
one another in the other world?
_Cri._ What means my sister?
_Bea._ I would fain see him again! O my tortured mind!
Freevill is more than dead, he is unkind!
[_Exeunt_ BEATRICE, CRISPINELLA, _and_ Nurse.
_Sir Hub._ Convey her in, and so, sir, as you said,
Set a strong watch.
_Sir Lio._ Ay, sir, and so pass along with this same common
woman; you must make it good. 80
_Fra._ Ick sall, or let me pay for his mine bloud.
_Sir Hub._ Come, then, along all, with quiet speed.
_Sir Lio._ O fate!
_Tyse._ O sir, be wisely sorry, but not passionate.
[_Exeunt all but_ Young FREEVILL.
_Free._ I will go and reveal myself! stay, no, no;
Grief endears love. Heaven! to have such a wife
Is happiness to breed pale envy in the saints.
Thou worthy dove-like virgin without gall,
Cannot (that woman's evil) jealousy,
Despite disgrace, nay, which is worse, contempt, 90
Once stir thy faith? O truth, how few sisters hast thou!
Dear memory!
With what a suffering sweetness, quiet modesty,
Yet deep affection, she received my death!
And then with what a patient, yet oppressed kindness,
She took my lewdly intimated wrongs!
O the dearest of heaven! were there but three
Such women in the world, two might be saved.
Well, I am great
With expectation to what devilish end 100
This woman of foul soul will drive her plots;
But Providence all wicked art o'ertops;
And impudence must know (tho' stiff as ice),
That fortune doth not always dote on vice.
[_Exit._
[87] "No point"--not at all (Fr. _non point_). See Dyce's
_Shakesp. Glossary_.