Sir C. Ha! Acton! Oh, me, more distress'd in this

Than all my troubles. Hale me back,
Double my irons, and my sparing meals
Put into halves, and lodge me in a dungeon

More deep, more dark, more cold, more comfortless.

By Acton freed! Not all thy manacles
Could fetter so my heels, as this one word

Hath thrall'd my heart; and it must now lie bound

In more strict prison than thy stony jail.
I am not free, go but under tail.
Keep. My charge is done, sir, now I have my

fees:

As we get little, we will nothing leese.

[Exit.

Sir C. By Acton freed! My dangerous opposite!1

Why, to what end? or what occasion? Ha!
Let me forget the name of enemy,

And with indifference balance this high favour: ha!

Susan. His love to me: upon my soul, 'tis so. That is the root from whence these strange things grow. [Aside. Sir C. Had this proceeded from my father, he That by the law of nature is most bound In offices of love, it had deserv'd

My best employment to requite that grace.
Had it proceeded from my friends, or him,
From them this action had deserv'd my life.
And from a stranger more, because from such
There is less execution of good deeds.
But he, nor father, nor ally, nor friend,
More than a stranger, both remote in blood,
And in his heart oppos'd my enemy,
That this high bounty should proceed from him,
Oh! there I lose myself. What should I say,
What think, what do, his bounty to repay?
Susan. You wonder, I am sure, whence this
strange kindness

Proceeds in Acton: I will tell you, brother.
He dotes on me, and oft hath sent me gifts,
Letters, and tokens; I refus'd them all.

Sir C. I have enough, though poor: my heart is set,

In one rich gift to pay back all my debt.

[Exeunt.

Enter FRANKFORD and NICHOLAS, with keys and a letter in his hand.

Frank. This is the night that I must play the touch

To try two seeming angels. Where's my keys? Nich. They are made according to your mould in wax:

I bade the smith be secret, gave him money,
And here they are. The letter, sir.

Frank. True, take it, there it is;

And when thou seest me in my pleasant'st vein, Ready to sit to supper, bring it me.

Nich. I'll do't; make no more question, but I'll do it.

[Exit.

Enter Mrs. FRANKFORD, CRANWELL, WENDOLL, and JENKIN.

Mrs. A. Sirrah, 'tis six o'clock already struck; Go bid them spread the cloth, and serve in supper. Jen. It shall be done, forsooth. Mistress, where's Spiggot, the butler, to give us our salt and trenchers?

Wen. We that have been a hunting all the day,

1 opposite-enemy.-COLLIER.

Come with prepared stomachs.-Master Frankford,

We wish'd you at our sport.

Frank. My heart was with you, and my mind was on you.——

Fie! Master Cranwell, you are still thus sad.-
A stool, a stool! Where's Jenkin, and where's
Nick?

'Tis supper time at least an hour ago.
What's the best news abroad?

Wen. I know none good.

Frank. But I know too much bad.

Enter Butler and JENKIN, with a tablecloth, bread, trenchers, and salt; then exeunt.

Cran. Methinks, sir, you might have that in

terest

In your wife's brother, to be more remiss
In his hard dealing against poor Sir Charles,
Who, as I hear, lies in York Castle, needy,
And in great want.

Frank. Did not more weighty business of mine

own

Hold me away, I would have labour'd peace Betwixt them, with all care, indeed I would, sir. Mrs. A. I'll write unto my brother earnestly In that behalf.

Wen. A charitable deed;

And will beget the good opinion

Of all your friends that love you, Mrs. Frankford. Frank. That's you, for one: I know you love Sir Charles,

And my wife too well.

Wen. He deserves the love.

Of all true gentlemen; be yourselves judge. Frank. But supper, ho!-Now, as thou lov'st me, Wendoll,

Which I am sure thou dost, be merry, pleasant,
And frolic it to-night.-Sweet Mr. Cranwell,
Do you the like.-Wife, I protest my heart
Was ne'er more bent on sweet alacrity.
Where be those lazy knaves to serve in supper?
Enter NICHOLAS.

Nich. Here's a letter, sir.
Frank. Whence comes it, and who brought it?
Nich. A stripling that below attends your

answer,

And, as he tells me, it is sent from York.

Frank. Have him into the cellar, let him taste A cup of our March beer: go, make him drink. Nich. I'll make him drunk, if he be a Trojan. Frank. My boots and spurs! where's Jenkin? God forgive me,

How I neglect my business.-Wife, look here;
I have a matter to be tried to-morrow
By eight o'clock, and my attorney writes me,
I must be there betimes with evidence,
Or it will go against me. Where's my boots?
Enter JENKIN, with boots and spurs.

Mrs. A. I hope your business craves no such despatch,

That you must ride to-night.

Wen. I hope it doth.

Frank. God's me! No such despatch? Jenkin, my boots! where's Nick? Saddle my

Frank. Bring forth my gelding.-As you love me, sir,

Use no more words: a hand, good Master Cranwell.

Cran. Sir, God be your speed.

Frank. Good night, sweet Nan; nay, nay, a kiss, and part.

Dissembling lips, you suit not with my heart. [Aside and exit.

Wen. How business, time, and hours, all gracious prove,

And are the furtherers of my new-born love!
I am husband now in Master Frankford's place,
And must command the house.-My pleasure is
We will not sup abroad so publicly,

But in your private chamber, Mistress Frankford.

Mrs. A. Oh, sir! you are too public in your love,

And Master Frankford's wife.

Cran. Might I crave favour,

I would entreat you I might see my chamber.
I am on the sudden grown exceeding ill,
And would be spar'd from supper.

Wen. Light there, ho!

See you want nothing, sir, for if you do,
You injure that good man, and wrong me too.
Cran. I will make bold: good night.
Wen. How all conspire

To make our bosom sweet, and full entire!
Come, Nan, I pr'ythee let us sup within.

[Exil.

Mrs. A. Oh! what a clog unto the soul is sin!
We pale offenders are still full of fear;
Every suspicious eye brings danger near,
When they, whose clear hearts from offence are
free,

Despite report, base scandals do outface,
And stand at mere defiance with disgrace.

Wen. Fie, fie! you talk too like a puritan.
Mrs. A. You have tempted me to mischief,
Master Wendoll:

I have done I know not what. Well, you plead

Sis. Good words, Jenkin, lest you be called to answer them.

Jen. Why, God make my mistress an honest! woman! are not these good words? Pray God my new master play not the knave with my old master! is there any hurt in this? God send no villany intended; and if they do sup together, pray God they do not lie together. God make my mistress chaste, and make us all his servants: what harm is there in all this? Nay, more; here is my hand, thou shalt never have my heart, unless thou say, Amen. Sis. Amen, I pray God, I say.

Enter Serving-men.

Serving-man. My mistress sends that you should make less noise; so lock up the doors. and see the household all got to bed. You Jenkin, for this night are made the porter, to see the gates shut in.

Jen. Thus, by little and little, I creep into office. Come, to kennel, my masters, to kennel: 'tis eleven o'clock already.

Serving-man. When you have locked the gates in, you must send up the keys to my mistress

Sis. Quickly, for God's sake, Jenkin, for I must carry them. I am neither pillow nor bolster, but I know more than both.

Jen. To bed, good Spiggot: to bed, good honest serving creatures; and let us sleep as 1 snug as pigs in peas-straw. [Exeunt.

Enter FRANKFORD and NICHOLAS. Frank. Soft, soft! we have tied our geldings to a tree, two flight shot off, lest by their thundering hoofs they blab our coming Hear'st thou no noise?

Nich. I hear nothing but the owl and you. Frank. So; now my watch's hand points upon twelve,

And it is just midnight. Where are my keys?
Nich. Here, sir.

Frank. This is the key that opes my outward

Then, unto him that freed me from that prison,
Still do I owe this life. What mov'd my foe
To enfranchise me? 'Twas, sister, for your love:
With full five hundred pounds he bought your
love,

And shall he not enjoy it? Shall the weight
Of all this heavy burden lean on me,

And will not you bear part? You did partake
The joy of my release; will you not stand
In joint-bond bound to satisfy the debt?
Shall I be only charg'd?

Susan. But that I know

These arguments come from an honour'd mind,
As in your most extremity of need
Scorning to stand in debt to one you hate,
Nay, rather would engage your unstain'd honour,
Than to be held ingrate, I should condemn you.
I see your resolution, and assent;

So Charles will have me, and I am content.
Sir C. For this I trick'd you up.
Susan. But here's a knife,

To save mine honour, shall slice out my life.
Sir C. I know thou pleasest me a thousand
times

More in thy resolution than thy grant.--
Observe her love; to sooth it to my suit,
Her honour she will hazard (though not lose)
To bring me out of debt, her rigorous hand
Will pierce her heart. Oh, wonder! That will
choose,

Rather than stain her blood, her life to lose.
Come, you sad sister to a woful brother,
This is the gate. I'll bear him such a present,
Such an acquittance for the knight to seal,
As will amaze his senses, and surprise
With admiration all his fantasies.

Enter Sir FRANCIS ACTON and MALBY.

Susan. Before his unchaste thoughts shall seize on me,

Tis here shall my imprison'd soul set free. Sir F. How! Mountford with his sister, hand in hand!

What miracle's afoot?

Mal. It is a sight

Begets in me much admiration.

Sir C. Stand not amaz'd to see me thus at-
tended.

Acton, I owe thee money; and, being unable
To bring thee the full sum in ready coin,
Lo! for thy more assurance, here's a pawn:
My sister, my dear sister, whose chaste honour
I prize above a million. Here: nay, take her;
She's worth your money, man: do not forsake

her.

Sir F. I would he were in earnest. Susan. Impute it not to my immodesty. My brother, being rich in nothing else But in his interest that he hath in me, According to his poverty hath brought you Me, all his store; whom, howsoe'er you prize, As forfeit to your hand, he values highly, And would not sell, but to acquit your debt, For any emperor's ransom.

Sir F. Stern heart, relent, Thy former cruelty at length repent. Wus ever known, in any former age, Such honourable, wrested courtesy? Lands, honours, life, and all the world forego, Rather than stand engag'd to such a foe.

Sir C. Acton, she is too poor to be thy bride, And I too much oppos'd to be thy brother. There, take her to thee; if thou hast the heart To seize her as a rape, or lustful prey; To blur our house, that never yet was stain'd; To murder her that never meant thee harm;

To kill me now, whom once thou sav'dst from death;

Do them at once on her: all these rely
And perish with her spotless chastity.

Sir F. You overcome me in your love, Sir
Charles.

I cannot be so cruel to a lady

I love so dearly. Since you have not spar'd
To engage your reputation to the world,
Your sister's honour, which you prize so dear,
Nay, all the comfort which you hold on earth,
To grow out of my debt, being your foe,
Your honour'd thoughts, lo! thus I recompense.
Your metamorphos'd foe receives your gift
In satisfaction of all former wrongs.
This jewel I will wear here in my heart:
And where before I thought her, for her wants,
Too base to be my bride, to end all strife,
I seal you my dear brother, her my wife.
Susan. You still exceed us. I will yield to
fate,

And learn to love, where I till now did hate.

Sir C. With that enchantment you have charm'd my soul,

And made me rich even in those very words:
I pay no debt, but am indebted more.
Rich in your love, I never can be poor.

Sir F. All's mine is yours; we are alike in state;

Let's knit in love what was oppos'd in hate. Come, for our nuptials we will straight provide, Blest only in our brother and fair bride.

[Exeunt.

Enter CRANWELL, FRANKFORD, and NICHOLAS. Cran. Why do you search each room about your house,

Now that you have despatch'd your wife away?
Sir F. Oh, sir! to see that nothing may be left
That ever was my wife's. I lov'd her dearly;
And when I do but think of her unkindness,
My thoughts are all in hell: to avoid which
torment,

I would not have a bodkin or a cuff,
A bracelet, necklace, or rebato wire,1
Nor anything that ever was call'd hers,
Left me, by which I might remember her.-
Seek round about.

Nich. 'Sblood! master, here's her lute flung in