Frank. Yes, I will prove it, And you shall confess it. You are my whore, No wife of mine; the word admits no second. I was before wedded to another; have her still. I do not lay the sin unto your charge, 'Tis all mine own: your marriage was my theft; For I espoused your dowry, and I have it: I did not purpose to have added murder. The devil did not prompt me: till this minute, You might have safe return'd; now you cannot. You have dogg'd your own death.

[Stabs her. Sus. And I deserve it; I'm glad my fate was so intelligent : 'Twas some good spirit's motion. Die? oh, 'twas

time! How many years might I have slept in sin, [The] sin of my most hatred, too, adultery! Frank. Nay sure 'twas likely that the most was

past;
For I meant never to return to you
After this parting.

Sus. Why then I thank you more ;
You have done lovingly, leaving yourself,
That
you

would thus bestow me on another. Thou art my husband, Death, and I embrace

thee With all the love I have. Forget the stain

? The Devil did not prompt me.] This is the pointing of the old copy; but it can scarcely be correct ; for, in fact, the Devil did prompt him. We might read:

The Devil did not prompt me till this minute :
You might, &c.

Of my unwitting sin ; and then I come
A crystal virgin to thee : my soul's purity
Shall, with bold wings, ascend the doors of

Mercy;
For innocence is ever her companion.
Frank. Not yet mortal? I would not linger

you, Or leave you a tongue to blab. [Stabs her again. Sus. Now heaven reward you ne'er the worse

for me! I did not think that death had been so sweet, Nor I so apt to love him. I could ne'er die

better, Had I stay'd forty years for preparation ; For I'm in charity with all the world. Let me for once be thine example, heaven; Do to this man, as I him free forgive, And may he better die, and better live ! [Dies. Frank. 'Tis done; and I am in! :once past our

height, We scorn the deep'st abyss. This follows now, To heal her wounds by dressing of the weapon. Arms, thighs, hands, any place; we must not fail

[Wounds himself. Light scratches, giving such deep ones: the best

8

To bind myself to this tree. Now's the storm, Which, if blown o'er, many fair days may follow.

[Binds himself to a tree; the Dog ties him

behind, and erit. So, so ! I'm fast; I did not think I could Have done so well behind me.

How prosperous and Effectual mischief sometimes is !--[Aloud.]–Help!

help! Murder, murder, murder!

Enter CARTER and Old THORNEY.

Car. Ha! whom tolls the bell for?
Frank. Oh, oh!

Thor. Ah me!
The cause appears too soon; my child, my son.
Car. Susan, girl, child! not speak to thy

father? ha! Frank. Oh lend me some assistance to o'ertake This hapless woman.

Thor. Let's o'ertake the murderers. Speak whilst thou canst, anon may be too late; I fear thou hast death's mark upon thee too.

Frank. I know them both; yet such an oath is

pass’d,

t

As pulls damnation up if it be broke;
I dare not name 'em : think what forced men do.
Thor. Keep oath with murderers! that were a

Frank. Nay, sir, I can describe 'em,
Shall show them as familiar as their names :
The taller of the two at this time wears
His satin doublet white, but crimson lined;
Hose of black satin, cloak of scarlet-

Thor. Warbeck,
Warbeck!-do

you list to this, sir? Car. Yes, yes, I listen you; here's nothing to be heard.

Frank. The other's cloak branch'd velvet, black,' velvet lined his suit. Thor. I have them already; Somerton, Somer

ton! Binal revenge, all this. Come, sir, the first work Is to pursue the murderers, when we have Remov'd these mangled bodies hence. Car. Sir, take that carcase there, and give me

this. I will not own her now; she's none of mine. Bob me off with a dumb show! no, I'll have life. This is my son, too, and while there's life in him, 'Tis half mine; take you half that silence for't.When I speak I look to be spoken to: Forgetful slut!

Thor. Alas! what grief may do now! Look, sir, I'll take this load of sorrow with me.

[Exit, with Susan in his arms.

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How do you,

Car. Ay, do, and I'll have this. sir ?

Frank. 0, very ill, sir.

Car. Yes, I think so; but 'tis well you can speak yet: There's no music but in sound; sound it must be. I have not wept these twenty years before, And that I guess was ere that girl was born; Yet now methinks, if I but knew the way, My heart's so full, I could weep night and day.

[Exit with FRANK.

SCENE III.—Before Sir Arthur's House.

Enter Sir ARTHUR CLARINGTON, WARBECK, and

SOMERTON.

Sir Ar. Come, gentlemen, we must all help to

grace
The nimble-footed youth of Edmonton,
That are so kind to call us up to-day
With an high Morrice.

War. I could wish it for the best, it were the worst now. Absurdity is, in my opinion, ever the best dancer in a morrice.

Som. I could rather sleep than see them.
Sir Ar. Not well, sir?

Som. Faith not ever thus leaden; yet I know no cause for't.

War. Now am I, beyond mine own condition, highly disposed to mirth.

а