Page:The Lamentable and True Tragedie of M. Arden of Feversham in Kent (1592).pdf/60

 Ard. Come Francklin, let vs strain to mend our pace, And take her vnawares playing the cooke. For I beleeue sheele stryue to mend our cheere.

Fran. Why thers no better creaturs in the world Then women are, when they are in good humors.

Ard. Who is that? Mosbie, what so familiare? Iniurious strumpet, and thou ribald knaue, Untwyne those armes.

Ales I with a sugred kisse, let them vntwine.

Ard. Ah Mosbie, periurde beast, beare this and all.

Mos. And yet no horned beast, The hornes are thine.

Fran. O monstrous, Nay then tis time to draw.

Ales Helpe helpe, they murther my husband.

Sha. Zounds who iniures M. Mosbie. Help Wil I am hurt.

Mos. I may thank you Mistres arden for this wound,

Ales. Ah Arden what folly blinded thee? Ah Ielious harebraine man what hast thou don, When we to welcome thy intended sport. Came louingly to mete thee on thy way. Thou drewst thy sword inraged with Ielousy, And hurte thy freende, Whose thoughts were free from harme. All for a woorthles kisse, and ioyning armes. Both don but mirrely to try thy patience And me vnhappy that deuysed the Iest, Which though begonne in sporte, yet ends in bloode.

Fran. Mary God defend me from such a Ieast.

Ales Couldst thou not see vs frendly smyle on thee? When we ioynd armes and when I kist his cheeke. Hast thou not lately found me ouer kinde? Didst thou not heare me cry they murther thee. Calde