A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Ix Part 19

[_Exit_ PIPKIN.

Y. ART. Art thou yet pleas'd?

MRS MA. When I have had my humour.

Y. ART. Good friends, for manners' sake awhile withdraw.

BRA. It is our pleasure, sir, to stand aside.

[MISTRESS SPLAY _and_ BRABO _stand aside_.

Y. ART. Mary, what cause hast thou to use me thus?

From nothing I have rais'd thee to much wealth; 'Twas more than I did owe thee: many a pound, Nay, many a hundred pound, I spent on thee In my wife's time; and once, but by my means, Thou hadst been in much danger: but in all things My purse and credit ever bare thee out.

I did not owe thee this. I had a wife, That would have laid herself beneath my feet To do me service; her I set at nought For the entire affection I bare thee.

To show that I have lov'd thee, have I not, Above all women, made chief choice of thee?

An argument sufficient of my love!

What reason then hast thou to wrong me thus?

MRS MA. It is my humour.

Y. ART. O, but such humours honest wives should purge: I'll show thee a far greater instance yet Of the true love that I have borne to thee.

Thou knew'st my wife: was she not fair?

MRS MA. So, so.

Y. ART. But more than fair: was she not virtuous?

Endued with the beauty of the mind?

MRS MA. Faith, so they said.

Y. ART. Hark, in thine ear: I'll trust thee with my life, Than which what greater instance of my love: Thou knew'st full well how suddenly she died?

T'enjoy thy love, even then I poison'd her!

MRS MA. How! poison'd her? accursed murderer!

I'll ring this fatal 'larum in all ears, Than which what greater instance of my hate?

Y. ART. Wilt thou not keep my counsel?

MRS MA. Villain, no!

Thou'lt poison me, as thou hast poison'd her.

Y. ART. Dost thou reward me thus for all my love?

Then, Arthur, fly, and seek to save thy life!

O, difference 'twixt a chaste and unchaste wife!

[_Exit_.

MRS MA. Pursue the murd'rer, apprehend him straight.

BRA. Why, what's the matter, mistress?

MRS MA. This villain Arthur poison'd his first wife, Which he in secret hath confess'd to me; Go and fetch warrants from the justices T'attach the murd'rer; he once hang'd and dead, His wealth is mine: pursue the slave that's fled.

BRA. Mistress, I will; he shall not pa.s.s this land, But I will bring him bound with this strong hand.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE II.

_The Street before the House of Anselm's Mother_.

_Enter_ MISTRESS ARTHUR, _poorly_.

MRS ART. O, what are the vain pleasures of the world, That in their actions we affect them so?

Had I been born a servant, my low life Had steady stood from all these miseries.

The waving reeds stand free from every gust, When the tall oaks are rent up by the roots.

What is vain beauty but an idle breath?

Why are we proud of that which so soon changes?

But rather wish the beauty of the mind, Which neither time can alter, sickness change, Violence deface, nor the black hand of envy Smudge and disgrace, or spoil, or make deform'd.

O, had my riotous husband borne this mind, He had been happy, I had been more blest, And peace had brought our quiet souls to rest.

_Enter_ YOUNG MASTER ARTHUR.

Y. ART. O, whither shall I fly to save my life When murder and despair dogs at my heels?

O misery! thou never found'st a friend; All friends forsake men in adversity: My brother hath denied to succour me, Upbraiding me with name of murderer; My uncles double-bar their doors against me; My father hath denied to shelter me, And curs'd me worse than Adam did vile Eve.

I that, within these two days, had more friends Than I could number with arithmetic, Have now no more than one poor cypher is, And that poor cypher I supply myself: All that I durst commit my fortunes to, I have tried, and find none to relieve my wants.

My sudden flight and fear of future shame Left me unfurnish'd of all necessaries, And these three days I have not tasted food.

MRS ART. It is my husband; O, how just is heaven!

Poorly disguis'd, and almost hunger-starv'd!

How comes this change?

Y. ART. Doth no man follow me?

O, how suspicious guilty murder is!

I starve for hunger, and I die for thirst.

Had I a kingdom, I would sell my crown For a small bit of bread: I shame to beg, And yet, perforce, I must or beg or starve.

This house, belike, 'longs to some gentlewoman, And here's a woman: I will beg of her.

Good mistress, look upon a poor man's wants.

Whom do I see? tus.h.!.+ Arthur, she is dead.

But that I saw her dead and buried, I would have sworn it had been Arthur's wife; But I will leave her; shame forbids me beg Of one so much resembles her.

MRS ART. Come hither, fellow! wherefore dost thou turn Thy guilty looks and blus.h.i.+ng face aside?

It seems thou hast not been brought up to this.

Y. ART. You say true, mistress; then for charity, And for her sake whom you resemble most.

Pity my present want and misery.