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Car. That I will.
doing ill! Frank. My stomach and my sight are taken
from me; All is not well within me.
Car. I believe thee, boy: I that have seen so many moons clap their horns on other men's foreheads to strike them sick; yet mine to scape, and be well! I that never cast away a fee upon urinals, but am as sound as an honest man's conscience when he's dying, I should cry out as thou dost, “ All is not well within me,” felt I but the bag of thy imposthumes. Ah poor villain! ah my wounded rascal! all my grief is, I have now small hope of thee. Frank. Do the surgeons say my wounds are
dangerous, then! Car. Yes, yes, and there's no way with thee but one.
Frank. Would he were here to open them.
Car. I'll go to fetch him; I'll make an holiday to see thee as I wish.
[Exit. Frank. A wond'rous kind old man.
Win. Your sin's the blacker, So to abuse his goodness.—[Aside to Frank.)—
Master, how do you?-[Aloud.]
9 Yes, yes, and there's no way with thee but one.] A proverbial expression for an inevitable event,—death. Thus Mrs. Quickly of poor Sir John. “ After I saw him fumble with the sheets, and smile upon his finger ends, I knew there was but one way,” &c.
Frank. Pretty well now, boy; I have such odd
qualms Come cross my stomach:-I'll fall to; boy, cut
Win. You have cut me, I'm sure;-a leg or
wing, sir? Frank. No, no, no; a wingWould I had wings but to soar up yon tower! But here's a clog that hinders me.
[Re-enter CARTER, followed by Servants, with
the body of Susan in a coffin. What's that?
Car. That? what? oh, now I see her; tis a young wench, my daughter, sirrah, sick to the death; and hearing thee to be an excellent rascal for letting blood, she looks out at a casement, and cries, “ Help! help! stay that man! him I must have or none." Frank. For pity's sake remove her; see, she
stares With one broad open eye still in my
face! Car. Thou puttest both her's out, like a villain as thou art; yet, see! she is willing to lend thee one again, to find out the murderer, and that's thyself.
Frank. Old man, thou liest.
Mine eyes, too much drown’d, now must feel more
rain. Car. Fetch officers. [Exit Kath. with servants. Frank. For whom?
Car. For thee, sirrah! sirrah! Some knives have foolish posies upon them, but thine has a villainous one; look!--[shewing the bloody knife]-oh, it is enamelled with the heart-blood of thy hated wife, my beloved daughter! What say’st thou to this evidence? is't not sharp? does't not strike home? thou canst not answer honestly, and without a trembling heart, to this one point, this terrible bloody point.
Win. I beseech you, sir, Strike him no more; you see he's dead already.
Car. Oh, sir! you held his horses; you are as arrant a rogue as he: up go you too. Frank. As you're a man, throw not upon that
woman Your loads of tyranny, for she is innocent.
Car. How? how? a woman! Is't grown to a fashion for women in all countries to wear the breeches?
Win. I am not as my disguise speaks me, sir,
But his first, only wife, his lawful wife.
Car. How? how? more fire i' th' bed-straw !
More fire i th bed-straw!) A proverbial expression for more concealed mischief!
Win. The wrongs which singly fell upon your
you call him to a Bar for what he has done.
Kath. Sir, they are come.
Car. Arraign me for what thou wilt, all Middlesex knows me better for an honest man, than the middle of a market-place knows thee for an honest woman. Rise, sirrah, and don your tacklings; rig yourself for the gallows, or I'll carry thee thither on my back: your trull shall to the gaol with you; there be as fine Newgate birds as she, that can draw him in: pox on's wounds! Frank. I have serv'd thee, and my wages now
are paid; Yet my worst punishment shall, I hope, be staid.
Saw. Still wrong'd by every slave? and not a
dog Bark in his dame's defence? I am callid witch, Yet am myself bewitch'd from doing harm. Have I giv’n up myself to thy black lust Thus to be scorn'd ? Not see me in three days! I'm lost without my Tomalin; prithee come, Revenge to me is sweeter far than life :: Thou art my raven, on whose coal-black wings Revenge comes flying to me. Oh my best love! I am on fire, even in the midst of ice, Raking my blood up, till my shrunk knees feel Thy curl'd head leaning on them ; come, then,
my darling, If in the air thou hover'st, fall upon me
Revenge to me is sweeter far than life.
At vindicta bonum vita jucundius. I have already observed on the incongruous language put into the mouth of our village witch. Either of the poets conld have written down to ber vulgar estimation, but they appear to entertain some indistinct notion of raising her character. This soliloquy, which is a very fine one, might have been pronounced by a Sagana, or a Canidia.