Than on the sun's clear brow: what would'st thou speak? When do you spurn me like a dog? when tread me Tho' I deserve a thousand thousand fold More than you can inflict: yet, once my husband, Fran. My God, with patience arm me! rise, nay rise, Fran. I did, indeed; witness my tears, I did. Mrs. Fra. In this one life I die ten thousand deaths. 1 I will retire a while into my study, And thou shalt hear thy sentence presently. He returns with Cranwel, his friend. [exit. She falls on her knees. Fran. My words are register'd in heaven already. And kill thee even with kindness. Cran. Mr. Frankford ! Fran. Good Mr. Cranwel.-Woman, hear thy judgment; Go make thee ready in thy best attire ; Take with thee all thy gowns, all thy apparel: Το carry all thy stuff within two hours; No longer will I limit thee my sight. Chuse which of all my servants thou lik'st best, And they are thine to attend thee. Mrs. Fra. A mild sentence. Fran. But as thou hop'st for heaven, as thou believ'st Thy name's recorded in the book of life, I charge thee never after this sad day Mrs. Fra. How full my heart is, in mine eyes appears; Fran. Come, take your coach, your stuff; all must along : Servants and all make ready, all be gone. It was thy hand cut two hearts out of one. Cranwel, Frankford, and Nicholas, a Servant. Cran. Why do you search each room about your house, Now that you have despatch'd your wife away? Fran. O sir, to see that nothing may be left My thoughts are all in hell; to avoid which torment, A bracelet, necklace, or rebato wire, Nor any thing that ever was called her's, Nic. Here's her lute flung in a corner. Fran. Her lute? Oh God! upon this instrument Swifter than that which now divides our hearts. (Now mute and dumb for her disastrous chance) Of her and her's I am at once bereft. Nicholas overtakes Mrs. Frankford on her journey, and delivers the lute. Mrs. Fra. I know the lute; oft have I sung to thee: We both are out of tune, both out of time. Nic. My master commends him unto ye; There's all he can find that was ever yours. He prays you to forget him, and so he bids you farewell. All you that have true feeling of my grief, That know my loss, and have relenting hearts, To blast his name so with a strumpet's tongue,) Go break this lute on my coach's wheel, I dare not so presume; nor to my children: I am disclaim'd in both, alas, I am. O never teach them, when they come to speak, Tell them 'tis naught, for when that word they name Of any cates that may preserve my life :: I never will nor smile, nor sleep, nor rest. But when my tears have wash'd my black soul white, Sweet Saviour! to thy hands I yield my sprite. Mrs. Frankford (dying). Sir Francis Acton (her brother). Sir Charles Mountford, Mr. Malby, and other of her husband's friends. ༤ Mal. How fare you, Mrs. Frankford? Mrs. Fra. Sick, sick, O sick: give me some air. I pray Tell me, oh tell me, where is Mr. Frankford. Will he not deign to see me, e'er I die? Mal. Yes, Mrs. Frankford: divers gentlemen And hearing therewithal the great desire You have to see him e'er you left the world, He gave to us his faith to follow us; And sure he will be here immediately. Mrs. Fra. You have half reviv'd me with the pleasing news: Raise me a little higher in my bed. Blush I not, brother Acton? blush I not, Sir Charles? Can you not read my fault writ in my cheek? Is not my crime there? tell me, gentlemen. Char. Alas! good mistress, sickness hath not left you Blood in your face enough to make you blush. Is Mrs. Fra. Then sickness like a friend my fault would hide. His arrival, then I am fit for heaven. Acton. I came to chide you, but my words of hate I came to rate you; but my brawls, you see, Mr. Frankford enters. Fran. Good morrow, brother; morrow, gentlemen: Might (had he pleas'd) have made our cause of meeting But he that made us, made us to this woe. Mrs. Fran. And is he come? methinks that voice I know. Fran. How do you, woman? Mrs. Fran. Well, Mr. Frankford, well; but shall be better, I hope within this hour. Will you vouchsafe (Out of your grace and your humanity) To take a spotted strumpet by the hand? Fran. This hand once held my heart in faster bonds Than now 'tis grip'd by me. God pardon them That made us first break hold. Mrs. Fra. Amen, Amen. Out of my zeal to heaven, whither I'm now bound, And once more beg your pardon. Oh! good man, Pardon, O pardon me: my fault so heinous is, That if you in this world forgive it not, Fran. As freely from the low depth of my soul As my Redeemer hath for us given his death, Fran. Even as I hope for pardon at that day, When the great judge of heaven in scarlet sits, |