Now smile, then weep; now pale, then crimson

red:

You are the powerful moon of

my

blood's sea,

To make it ebb or flow into my face,

As your looks change.

Frank. Change thy conceit, I prithee; Thou art all perfection: Diana herself

Swells in thy thoughts, and moderates thy beauty.

Within thy left eye amorous Cupid sits Feathering love-shafts, whose golden heads he dipp'd

* in thy chaste breast; in the other lies
Blushing Adonis scarf'd in modesties;
And still as wanton Cupid blows love-fires,
Adonis quenches out unchaste desires:
And from these two I briefly do imply

A perfect emblem of thy modesty.

Then, prithee dear, maintain no more dispute,
For where thou speak'st, it's fit all tongues be

mute.

Sus. Come, come, these golden strings of flat

tery

7 * * * in thy chaste breast.] The 4to has a break in the line here; probably, the compositor could not make out the word in the manuscript. The florid and overstrained nature of Frank's language, which is evidently assumed, to disguise his real feelings, is well contrasted with the pure and affectionate simplicity of Susan. If this part of the act be given to Decker, (as I believe it must be,) it reflects great credit on his taste and judgment; for rarely shall we find a scene more tenderly and skilfully wrought.

Shall not tie up my speech, sir; I must know

The ground of

your disturbance.

Frank. Then look here;

For here, here is the fen in which this hydra
Of discontent grows rank.

Sus. Heaven shield it! where?

Frank. In mine own bosom, here the cause has root;

The poison'd leeches twist about my heart,
And will, I hope, confound me.

Sus. You speak riddles.

Frank. Take't plainly then; 'twas told me by a

woman

Known and approved in palmistry,

I should have two wives.

Sus. Two wives? sir, I take it

Exceeding likely; but let not conceit hurt you: You are afraid to bury me?

Frank. No, no, my Winnifrede.

Sus. How say you? Winnifrede! you forget

me.

Frank. No, I forget myself, Susan.

Sus. In what?

Frank. Talking of wives, I pretend Winnifrede,

A maid that at my mother's waited on me
Before thyself.

Sus. I hope, sir, she may live

To take my place; but why should all this move you?

Frank. The poor girl,-she has 't before thee, And that's the fiend torments me.

Sus. Yet why should this

Raise mutiny within you? such presages

Prove often false: or say it should be true?
Frank. That I should have another wife?
Sus. Yes, many;

If they be good, the better.

Frank. Never any

Equal to thee in goodness.

[Aside.

Sus. Sir, I could wish I were much better for

you;

Yet if I knew your fate

Ordain'd you for another, I could wish

(So well I love

you and your hopeful pleasure) Me in my grave, and my poor virtues added To my successor.

Frank. Prithee, prithee, talk not

Of death or graves; thou art so rare a goodness,
As Death would rather put itself to death,
Than murder thee: but we, as all things else,
Are mutable and changing.

In

Sus. Yet you still move

your first sphere of discontent. Sweet, chase Those clouds of sorrow, and shine clearly on me.

Frank. At my return I will.

Sus. Return? ah me!

Will you then leave me?

Frank. For a time I must:

But how? as birds their young, or loving bees

Their hives, to fetch home richer dainties.

Sus. Leave me!

Now has my fear met its effect. You shall not, Cost it my life, you shall not.

Frank. Why? your reason?

Sus. Like to the lapwing have you all this while,

With your false love, deluded me; pretending Counterfeit senses for your discontent!

And now at last it is by chance stole from you. Frank. What? what by chance?

Sus. Your pre-appointed meeting

Of single combat with young Warbeck.
Frank. Ha!

Sus. Even so dissemble not; 'tis too apparent. Then, in his look, I read it :-deny it not,

I see't apparent; cost it my undoing,
And unto that my life, I will not leave you.
Frank. Not until when?

Sus. Till he and you be friends.

Was this your cunning?-and then flam me off With an old witch, two wives, and Winnifrede! You are not so kind indeed as I imagined.

Frank. And you more fond by far than I expected. (Aside.)

Like to the lapwing, &c.] i. e. as the old proverb has it, "tongue far from heart." See Jonson, vol. iii. p. 141, where several examples of this expression occur. One, however, may yet be added, since it has received the imprimatur of Shakspeare.

The lapwing hath a piteous, mournful cry,

And sings a sorrowful and heavy song.

But yet she's full of craft and subtilty,

And weepeth most being farthest from her young.

Phanix and Turtle.

It is a virtue that attends thy kind

But of our business within:-and by this kiss,
I'll anger thee no more; 'troth, chuck, I will not.
Sus. You shall have no just cause.

Frank. Dear Sue, I shall not.

[Exeunt.

ACT III.-SCENE I.

A Field.

Enter CUDDY BANKS, with the Morrice Dancers.

1 Clown. Nay, Cuddy, prithee do not leave us now; if we part all this night, we shall not meet before day.

2 Cl. I prithee, Banks, let's keep together now. Cud. If you were wise, a word would serve; but as you are, I must be forced to tell you again, I have a little private business, an hour's work; it may prove but an half hour's, as luck may serve; and then I take horse, and along with you. Have we e'er a witch in the morrice?

1 Cl. No, no; no woman's part but MaidMarian, and the hobby-horse.

Cud. I'll have a witch; I love a witch.

1 Cl. 'Faith, witches themselves are so com