Page:The Lamentable and True Tragedie of M. Arden of Feversham in Kent (1592).pdf/36

 Come M. Franklin, shal we go to bed.

Fran. I pray you go before, Ile follow you, Ah what ahell is fretfull Ielousie? What pitty moning words? what deepe fetcht sighes? What greeuous grones? and ouerlading woes, Accompanies this gentle gentleman. Now will he shake his care oppressed head, Then fix his sad eis on the sollen earth, Ashamed to gaze vpon the open world. Now will he cast his eyes vp towards the heauens, Looking that waies for redresse of wrong, Some times he seeketh to beguile his griefe, And tels a story with his carefull tongue. Then comes his wiues dishonor in his thoughts, And in the middle cutteth of his tale. Powring fresh sorrow on his weary lims. So woe begone, so inlye charged with woe, Was neuer any lyued and bare it so.

Mic. My M. would desire you come to bed.

Fra. Is he himselfe already in his bed?

Mic. He is and faine would haue the light away, Conflicting thoughts incamped in my brest Awake me with the Echo of their strokes: And I a iudge to censure either side, Can giue to neither wished victory. My masters kindnes pleads to me for lyfe, With iust demaund, and I must grant it him. My mistres she hath forced me with an oath, For Susans sake the which I may not breake, For that is nearer the a masters loue, That grim faced fellow, pittiles black Will, And Shakebag stearne in bloody stratageme. Two