Читать книгу The Complete Apocryphal Plays of William Shakespeare - William Shakespeare - Страница 4

 how now, Alice? What, sad and passionate?

Make me partaker of thy pensiveness:

Fire divided burns with lesser force.

ALICE

But I will dam that fire in my breast

Till by the force thereof my part consume, ah, Mosbie!

MOSBIE

Such deep pathaires, like to a cannon’s burst

Discharged against a ruinated wall,

Breaks my relenting heart in thousand pieces.

Ungentle Alice, thy sorrow is my sore;

Thou know’st it well, and ‘tis thy policy

To forge distressful looks to wound a breast

Where lies a heart that dies when thou art sad.

It is not love that loves to anger love.

ALICE

It is not love that loves to murder love.

MOSBIE

How mean you that?

ALICE

Thou knowest how dearly Arden loved me.

MOSBIE

And then?

ALICE

And then - conceal the rest, for ‘tis too bad,

Lest that my words be carried with the wind,

And published in the world to both our shames.

I pray thee, Mosbie, let our springtime wither;

Our harvest else will yield but loathsome weeds.

Forget, I pray thee, what hath passes betwixt us,

For now I blush and tremble at the thoughts!

MOSBIE

What? Are you changed?

ALICE

Ay, to my former happy life again,

From title of an odious strumpet’s name

To honest Arden’s wife, not Arden’s honest wife.

And made me slanderous to all my kin;

Even in my forehead is thy name ingraven,

A mean artificer, that low born name.

I was bewitched: woe worth the hapless hour

And all the causes that enchanted me!

MOSBIE

Nay, if thou ban, let me breathe curses forth,

And if you stand so nicely at your fame,

Let me repent the credit I have lost.

And thou unhallowed hast enchanted me.

But I will break thy spells and exorcisms,

And put another sight upon these eyes

That showed my heart a raven for a dove.

Thou art not fair, I viewed thee not till now;

Thou art not kind, till now I knew thee not;

And now the rain hath beaten off thy gilt,

Thy worthless copper shows thee counterfeit.

It grieves me not to see how foul thou art,

But mads me that ever I thought thee fair.

Go, get thee gone, a copesmate for thy hinds;

I am too good to be thy favorite.

ALICE

Ay, now I see, and too soon find it true,

Which often hath been told me by my friends,

That Mosbie loves me not but for my wealth,

Which, too incredulous, I ne’er believed.

Nay, hear me speak, Mosbie, a word or two;

I’ll bite my tongue if it speak bitterly.

Look on me, Mosbie, or I’ll kill myself:

Nothing shall hide me from thy stormy look,

If thou cry war, there is no peace for me;

I will do penance for offending thee,

And burn this prayer book, where I here use

The holy word that had converted me.

See, Mosbie, I will tear away the leaves,

And all the leaves, and in this golden cover

Shall thy sweet phrases and thy letters dwell;

And thereon will I chiefly meditate,

And hold no other sect but such devotion.

Wilt thou not look? Is all thy love o’erwhelmed?

Wilt thou not hear? What malice stops thine ears?

Why speaks thou not? What silence ties thy tongue?

Thou hast been sighted as the eagle is,

And heard as quickly as the fearful hare,

When I have bid thee hear or see or speak,

And art thou sensible in none of these?

Weigh all thy good turns with this little fault,

And I deserve not Mosbie’s muddy looks.

A font once troubled is not thickened still:

Be clear again, I’ll ne’er more trouble thee.

MOSBIE

O no, I am a base artificer:

My wings are feathered for a lowly flight.

Mosbie? Fie! No, not for a thousand pound.

Make love to you? Why, ‘tis unpardonable;

We beggars must not breathe where gentles are.

ALICE

Sweet Mosbie is as gentle as a king,

And I too blind to judge him otherwise.

Flowers do sometimes spring in fallow lands,

Weeds in gArdens, roses grow on thorns;

So, whatsoe’er my Mosbie’s father was,

Himself is valued gentle by his worth.

MOSBIE

Ah, how you women can insinuate,

And clear a trespass with your sweet set tongue!

I will forget this quarrel, gentle Alice,

Provided I’ll be tempted so no more.

(here enters BRADSHAW

ALICE

Then with thy lips seal up this new made match.

MOSBIE

Soft, Alice, here comes some body.

ALICE

How now, Bradshaw, what’s the news with you?

BRADSHAW

I have little news, but here’s a letter

That master Greene importuned me to give you.

ALICE

Go in, Bradshaw; call for a cup of beer; (Exit.

‘tis almost supper time, thou shalt stay with us.

(then she reads the letter.

“We have missed of our purpose at London but shall perform

It by the way. We thank our neighbor BRADSHAW

Yours, Richard GREENE

How likes my love the tenor of this letter?

MOSBIE

Well, were his date completed and expired.

ALICE

Ah, would it were!

Then comes my happy hour:

Till then my bliss is mixed with bitter gall.

Come, let us in to shun suspicion.

(here Enter 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,

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

Than either thou or all thy kin are worth.

Zounds, I hate them as I hate a toad

That carry a muscado in their tongue,

And scarce a hurting weapon in their hand.

WILL

O Greene intolerable!

It is not for mine honor 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 hollowed in his ear,

And he supposed a cannon bullet hit him.

(then they fight.

GREENE

I pray you, sirs, list to aesop’s talk:

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.

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

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, sirs, be sure to speed him when he comes,

And in that hope I’ll leave you for an hour. (Exit GREENE

(here Enter Arden, Franklin, and MICHAEL

MICHAEL

‘twere best that I went back to rochester:

The horse halts down right; 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 it will be very late ere we get home.

MICHAEL

Ay, god he knows, and so doth Will end 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. (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.

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,

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 hand kercher,

And modestly she wipes her tear stained face;

And with a majesty addressed her self

To encounter all their accusations. -

Pardon, me, master Arden, I can no more;

This fighting at my heart makes short my wind.

You are a stranger, man, in the isle of sheppy.

ARDEN

Your honor’s always bound, to do you service.

LORD

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.

LORD

My lord protector’s man I take you to be.

FRANKLIN

Ay, my good lord, and highly bound to you.

LORD

You and your friend come home and sup with me.

ARDEN

I beseech your honor pardon me;

I have made a promise to a gentleman,

My honest friend, to meet him at my house;

The occasion is great, or else would I wait on you.

LORD

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 honor.

LORD

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 honor;

I am your bedesman, bound to pray for you.

LORD

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, 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.

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 escap’d he?

SHAKEBAG

When we were ready to shoot,

Comes my lord cheney to prevent his death.

GREENE

The lord of heaven hath preserved him.

WILL

Preserved a fig! The lord cheney 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 cheneys in the world say no,

I’ll have a bullet in his breast tomorrow.

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!

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.

(here Enter Arden and his wife, Franklin, and MICHAEL

ARDEN

See how the hours, the gardeant of heaven’s gate

Have by their toil removed the darksome clouds,

That sol may well discern the trampled pace

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 sheppey,

To the isle of sheppy, there to dine with my lord cheney,

For so his honor 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 honor’s title nor a lord’s command

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;

I am sure his honor will welcome her

And us the more for bringing her along.

ARDEN

Content; sirrah, saddle your mistress’ nag.

ALICE

No, begged favor 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,

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 thiry 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.

ARDEN

Go to, sirrah, see you follow us to the isle of sheppey,

To my lord cheney’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’s your mistress too?

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 fear.

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 your self.

CLARKE

O, Michael, the spleen prickles you.

Go to, you carry an eye over mistress SUSAN

MICHAEL

I’faith, to keep her from the painter.

CLARKE

Why more from a painter than from a serving

Creature like your self?

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.

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 Enter 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 brabble in

But now when serious matters are in hand? -

Say, Clarke, hast thou done the thing thou promised?

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?

And love shall last as long as life remains,

And life shall end before my love depart.

MOSBIE

Why, what’s 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,

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

Let’s to them and see what they have done.

(here enters Arden and FRANKLIN

ARDEN

Oh, ferryman, where art thou?

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.

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.

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.

(here enters Will at one door, and Shakebag at another.

SHAKEBAG

O, 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 potfinger?

SHAKEBAG

No; this were a fine world for chandlers,

Should never dine nor sup without candle light.

But, sirrah Will, what horses are those that pass’d?

WILL

Why, didst thou hear any?

SHAKEBAG

Ay, that I did.

WILL

My life for thine, ‘twas Arden, and his companions

And then all our labor’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.

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,

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?

FERRYMAN

None but a couple of gentlemen, that went to

Dine at my lord cheney’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?

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?

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,

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,

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.

(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! -

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?

Although the rent of it was ever mine.

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

On thee or thine, in plaguing thee for this.

That plot of ground which thou detains from me.

I speak 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 cursed days!

FRANKLIN

Fie, bitter knave, bridle thine envious tongue,

For curses are like arrows shot upright,

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.

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.

And greatly changed from the old humor

Of her wonted forwardness,

And seeks by fair means to redeem old faults.

(here enters Alice and MOSBIE

FRANKLIN

Why, there’s no better creatures in the world

Than women are when they are in good humors.

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.

ARDEN

Ah, Mosbie! Perjured beast! Bear this and all.

MOSBIE

And yet no horned beast;

The horns are thine.

FRANKLIN

O monstrous! Nay, then ‘tis 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 harebrain man, what hast thou done;

When we, to welcome thee intending sport,

Came lovingly to meet thee on thy way,

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 overkind?

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!

Hence forth I’ll be thy slave, no more thy wife,

For with that name I never shall content thee.

If sad, thou sayest the sullens trouble me;

If well attired, thou tninks I will be gadding;

If homely, I seem sluttish in thine eye.

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 misdemeanor?

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.

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 dress’d

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,

And wronged my friend, shame scourgeth my offence;

Come thou thy self, and go along with with me,

And be a mediator ‘twixt us two.

FRANKLIN

Why, master Arden! Know you what you do?

Will you follow him that hath dishonored 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

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

ARDEN

I pray thee, gentle Franklin, hold thy peace:

in killing a man?

GREENE

I think we shall never do it;

Let us give it over.

SHAKEBAG

Hay, zounds! We’ll kill him,

Though we be hanged at his door for our labor.

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

‘

2 have cracked as many blades,

As thou hast done nuts.

GREENE

O monstrous lie!

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 off 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 temporary alehouses’ men would stand every morning,

With a quart pot in his 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.

(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 both when they both shook hands.

And railed on Frankiin 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

That Mosbie, Franklin, Bradshaw, Adam Fowl,

With divers of his neighbors 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. (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 Alice, 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,

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 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.

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.

Sweet Mosbie, hide thy arm, it kills my heart.

MOSBIE

Ay, mistress Arden, this is your favor.

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,

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 my self.

MOSBIE

You, master Greene, shall single Franklin forth,

And hold him with a long tale of strange news,

That he may not come home till suppertime.

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 lock’d within the countinghouse

Shall at a certain watchword given rush forth.

WILL

What shall the watchword be?

MOSBIE

‘now I take you’; that shall be the word.

But come not forth before in any case.

WILL

I warrant you. But who shall lock me in?

ALICE

That will I do; thou’lt keep the key thy self.

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 honor thee;

Instead of fair words and large promises

My hands shall play you golden harmony:

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

Some slave or other killed him for his gold.

ALICE

A fine device! You shall have twenty pouhd,

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 countinghouse?

ALICE

Here would I stay and still encourage you;

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.

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

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.

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, ere 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.

But wherefore do you bring him hither now?

You have given me my supper with his sight.

MOSBIE

Master Arden, me thinks 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.

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 your self 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 home.

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,

ALICE

I pray you meddle with that you have to do.

ARDEN