The Lamentable and True Tragedie of M. Arden of Feversham in Kent/Act 1

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The Tragedy of M.Arden of Feuershame.

(Enter Arden, and Francklin)

ARden cheere vp thy spirits and droup no more
My gratious Lord ye Duke of Sommerset:
Hath frely giuen to thee and to thy heyres,
By letters patents from his Maiesty:
All the lands of the Abby of Feuershame.
Heer are the deedes sealed & subscribed wᵗ his name and the kings,
Read them, and leaue this melancholy moode

Francklin thy loue prolongs my weary lyfe,
And but for thee, how odious were this lyfe:
That showes me nothing but torments my soule.
And those foule obiects that offend myne eies,
Which makes me wish that for this vale of Heauen,
The earth hung ouer my heede and couerd mee.
Loue letters past twixt Mosbie and my Wyfe,
And they haue preuie meetings in the Towne:
Nay on his finger did I spy the Ring,
Which at our Marriage day the Preest put on,
Can any greefe be halfe so great as this?

Comfort thy selfe sweete freend it is not strange,
That women will be false and wauering.

I but to doat on such a one as hee
Is monstrous Francklin, and intollerable.

Why, what is he?

A Botcher and no better at the first,
Who by base brocage, getting some small stock:
Crept into seruice of a noble man:
And by his seruile flattery and fawning,
Is now become the steward of his house,
And brauely iets it in his silken gowne.

No noble man will countnaunce such a pesant,

Yes, the Lord Clifford, he that loues not mee,
But through his fauour let not him grow proude,
For were he by the Lord Protector backt,
He should not make me to be pointed at,
I am by birth a gentle man of bloode,

And that iniurious riball that attempts,
To vyolate my deare wyues chastitie,
(For deare I holde hir loue, as deare as heauen)
Shall on the bed which he thinks to defile,
See his disseuered ioints and sinewes torne,
Whylst on the planchers, pants his weary body,
Smeard in the channels of his lustfull bloode.

Be patient gentle freend and learne of me,
To ease thy griefe, and saue her chastitye:
Intreat her faire, sweete words are fittest engines
To race the flint walles of a womans breast:
In any case be not too Ielyouse,
Nor make no question of her loue to thee,
But as securely, presently take horse,
And ly with me at London all this tearme
For women when they may, will not,
But beeing kept back, straight grow outragious.

Though this abhorres from reason yet ile try it
And call her foorth, and presently take leaue: How Ales,

Heere entes ales.

Husband what meane you to get vp so earely.
Sommer nights are short, and yet you ryse ere day,
Had I beene wake you had not rise so soone.

Sweet loue thou knowst that we two Ouid like
Haue often chid the morning, when it gan to peepe.
And often wisht that darke nights purblind steedes,
Would pull her by the purple mantle back:
And cast her in the Ocean to her loue.
But this night sweete Ales thou hast kild my hart,
I heard thee cal on Mosbie in thy sleepe.

Tis lyke I was a sleepe when I nam'd him,
For beeing awake he comes not in my thoughts:

I but you started vp, and suddenly
In steede of him: caught me about the necke.

In steede of him? why, who was there but you,
And where but one is, how can I mistake.

Arden leaue to vrdge her ouer farre.

Nay loue there is no credit in a dreame,
Let it suffice I know thou louest me well.

Now I remember where vpon it came,
Had we no talke of Mosbie yesternight.

Mistres Ales I hard you name him once or twice,

And thereof came it, and therefore blame not me

I know it did, and therefore let it passe,
I must to London sweete Ales presently.

But tell me do you meane to stay there long?

No longer there till my affaires be done.

He will not stay aboue a month at most.

A moneth aye me, sweete Arden come againe
Within a day or two, or els I die.

I cannot long be from thee gentle Ales,
Whilest, Michel fetch our horses from the field,
Franklin and I will down vnto the key:
For I haue certaine goods there to vnload,
Meanewhile prepare our breakfast gentle Ales,
For yet ere noone wele take horse and away,

Exeunt Arden, & Francklin.

Ere noone he meanes to take horse and away:
Sweete newes is this, Oh that some ayrie spirit,
Would in the shape and liknes of a horse
Gallope with Arden crosse the Ocean,
And throw him from his backe into the waues.
Sweete Mosbie is the man that hath my hart:
And he vsurpes it, hauing nought but this,
That I am tyed to him by marriage.
Loue is a God and mariage is but words,
And therefore Mosbies title is the best,
Tushe whether it be or no, he shall be mine,
In spight of him, of Hymen and of rytes.

Here enters Adam of the Flourdeluce.

And here comes Adam of the flourdeluce,

I hope he brings me tydings of my loue.

How now Adam, what is the newes with you?
Be not affraid my husband is now from home.

He whome you wot of Mosbie Mistres Ales,
Is come to towne, and sends you word by mee,
In any case you may not visit him.

Not visit him?

No nor take no knowledge of his beeing heere

But tell me is he angree or displeased.

Should seeme so, for he is wondrous sad.

Were he as mad as rauing Hercules,
Ile see him, I and were thy house of force,
These hands of mine should race it to the ground:
Unles that thou wouldst bring me to my loue.

Nay and you be so impatient Ile be gone

Stay Adam, stay, thou wert wont to be my fred
Aske Mosbie how I haue incurred his wrath,
Beare him from me these paire of siluer dice:
With which we plaid for kisses many a time,
And when I lost, I wan, and so did hee:
Such winning and such losing, Ioue send me,
And bid him if his loue doo not decline,
Come this morning but along my dore:
And as a stranger, but salute me there,
This may he doo without suspect or feare.

Ile tell him what you say, and so farewell.

Exit Adam.


Doo, and one day Ile make amends for all:
I know he loues me well, but dares not come,
Because my husband is so Ielious:
And these my marrow prying neighbours blab,
Hinder our meetings when we would conferre.
But if I liue that block shall be remoued,
And Mosbie, thou that comes to me by stelth
shalt neither feare the biting speach of men,
Nor Ardens lookes, as surely shall he die,
as I abhorre him, and loue onely thee.

Here enters Michaell.

How now Michaell, whether are you going?

To fetch my masters nagge,
I hope youle thinke on mee.

I But Michaell see yon keepe your oath,
And be as secret, as you are resolute.

Ile see he shall not liue aboue a weeke.

On that condition Michaell here is my hand
None shall haue Mosbies sister but thy selfe.

I vnderstand the Painter heere hard by,
Hath made reporte that he and Sue is sure.

There's no such matter Michaell beleeue it not,

But he hath sent a dagger sticking in a hart,
With a verse or two stollen from a painted cloath:
The which I heere the wench keepes in her chest,
Well let her kepe it, I shall finde a fellow
That can both write and read, and make rime too,
And if I doo, well, I say no more:
Ile send from London such a taunting letter,
As shall eat the hart he sent with salt.
And fling the dagger at the Painters head.

What needes all this, I say that Susan's thine

Why then I say that I will kill my master
Or any thing that you will haue me doo.

But Michaell see you doo it cunningly.

Why, say I should be tooke, ile nere confesse,
That you know any thing, and Susan being a Maide,
May begge me from the gallous of the Shriefe.

Truste not to that Michaell.

You can not tell me, I haue seene it I,
But mistres tell her whether I liue or die.
Ile make her more woorth then twenty Painters can,
For I will rid myne elder brother away:
And then the farme of Bolton is mine owne.
Who would not venture vpon house and land?
When he may haue it for a right downe blowe.

Here enters Mosbie.

Yonder comes Mosbie, Michaell get thee gone,
And let not him nor any knowe thy drifts.

Exit Michaell.

Mosbie my loue,

Away I say, and talke not to me now.

A word or two sweete hart, and then I will,
Tis yet but early daies, thou needest not feare.

Where is your husband?

Tis now high water, and he is at the key.

There let him be, hence forward know me not.

Is this the end of all thy solemne oathes?
Is this the frute thy reconcilement buds?
Haue I for this giuen thee so many fauours,
Incurd my husbands hate, and out alas,
Made shipwrack of myne honour for thy sake,
And doest thou say hence forward know me not?
Remember when I lockt the in my closet,
What were thy words and mine, did we not both
Decree, to murder Arden in the night.
The heauens can witnes, and the world can tell,
Before I saw that falshoode looke of thine,
Fore I was tangled with thy tysing speach,
Arden to me was dearer then my soule,
And shall be still, base pesant get thee gone.
And boast not of thy conquest ouer me,
Gotten by witch-craft, and meere sorcery.
For what hast thou to countenaunce my loue,
beeing discended of a noble house,
And matcht already with a gentleman,
Whose seruant thou maist be, and so farewell.

Ungentle and vnkinde Ales, now I see
That which I euer feard, and finde too trew:
A womans loue is as the lightning flame,
Which euen in bursting forth consumes it selfe,
To trye thy constancie haue I beene strange,

Would I had neuer tryed, but liued in hope.

What needs thou try me, whom thou neuer found false,

Yet pardon me for loue is Ielious,

So list the Sailer to the Marmaids song,
So lookes the trauellour to the Basiliske,
I am content for to be reconcilde,
And that I know will be mine ouerthrow.

Thine ouerthrow? first let the world dissolue,

Nay Mosbie let me still inioye thy loue,
And happen what will, I am resolute,
My sauing husband hoordes vp bagges of gould,
To make our children rich, and now is hee
Gone to vnload the goods that shall be thine,
And he and Francklin will to London straight.

To London Ales, if thoult be rulde by mee,
Weele make him sure enough for comming there.

Ah, would we could.

I happend on a Painter yesternight,
The onely cunning man of Christendoome:
For he can temper poyson with his oyle,
That who so lookes vpon the worke he drawes,
Shall with the beames that issue from his sight,
Suck vennome to his breast and slay him selfe,
Sweete Ales he shall draw thy counterfet,
That Arden may by gaizing on it perish.

I but Mosbie that is dangerous,
For thou or I, or any other els,
Comming into the Chamber where it hangs, may die.

I but weele haue it couered with a cloath,
And hung vp in the studie for himselfe.

It may not be, for when the pictur's drawne,
Arden I know will come and shew it me.

Feare not weele haue that shall serue the turne,
This is the painters house Ile call him foorth,

But Mosbie Ile haue no such picture I:

I pray thee leaue it to my discretion. How, Clarke

Here enters Clarke.

O you are an honest man of your word, you serud me wel,

Why sir ile do it for you at any time,
Prouided as you haue giuen your worde,
I may haue Susan Mosbie to my wife:
For as sharpe witted Poets, whose sweete verse
Make heauenly gods break of their Nector draughts,
And lay their eares down to the lowly earth:
Use humble promise to their sacred Muse,
So we that are the Poets fauorits,
Must haue a loue, I, Loue is the Painters Muse.
That makes him frame a speaking countenaunce.
A weeping eye that witnesses hartes griefe,
Then tell me Master Mosbie shall I haue hir?

Tis pittie but he should, heele vse her well.

Clarke heers my hand my sister shall be thine,

Then brother to requite this curtesie,
You shall command my lyfe my skill and all.

Ah that thou couldst be secret,

Feare him not, leaue, I haue talkt sufficient,

You know not me, that ask such questions:
Let it suffice, I know you loue him well,
And faine would haue your husband made away:
Wherein trust me you shew a noble minde,
That rather then youle liue with him you hate,
Youle venture lyfe, and die with him you loue,
The like will I do for my Susans sake.

Yet nothing could inforce me to the deed,
But Mosbies loue, might I without controll,
Inioy thee still, then Arden should not die:
But seeing I cannot, therefore let him die.

Enough sweete Ales, thy kinde words makes me melt,
Your tricke of poysoned pictures we dislyke,
Some other poyson would do better farre.

I such as might be put into his broth,
And yet in taste not to be found at all.

I know your minde, and here I haue it for you,
Put but a dram of this into his drinke,
Or any kinde of broth that he shall eat:
And he shall die within an houre after.

As I am a gentle woman Clarke, next day
Thou and Susan shall be maried.

And ile mak her dowry more the ile talk of Clark,

Yonder's your husband, Mosbie ile be gone.

Here enters Arden and Francklin.

In good time, see where my husband comes,
Maister Mosbie aske him the question your selfe.

Exit Clarke.

Maister Arden, being at London yester night,
The Abby lands whereof you are now possest,
Were offred me on some occasion,
By Greene one of sir Antony Agers men:
I pray you sir tell me, are not the lands yours?
Hath any other interest herein?

Mosby that question wele decyde anon,
Ales make ready my brekfast, I must hence.

Exit Ales.

As for the lands mosbie they are mine,

By letters patents from his Maiesty:
But I must haue a Mandat for my wyfe,
They say you seeke to robbe me of her loue,
Uillaine what makes thou in her company,
Shees no companion for so base a groome.

Arden I thought not on her, I came to thee,
But rather then I pocket vp this wrong.

What will you doo sir?

Reuenge it on the proudest of you both:

Then Arden drawes forth Mosbies sword.

So sirha, you may not weare a sword,
The statute makes against artificers,
I warrand that I doo, now vse your bodkin,
Your spanish needle, and your pressing Iron.

For this shall go with me, and marke my words,
You goodman botcher, tis to you I speake,
The next time that I take thee neare my house,
In steede of legs, Ile make thee crall on stumps.

Ah maister Arden you haue iniurde mee,
I doo appeale to God, and to the world.

Why canst thou deny, thou wert a botcher once,

Measure me what I am, not what I was.

Why what art thou now, but a Ueluet drudge,
A cheating steward, and base minded pesant.

Arden now thou hast belcht and vomited,
The rancorous venome of thy mis-swolne hart,
Heare me but speake, as I intend to liue
With God, and his elected saints in heauen,
I neuer meant more to solicit her,
And that she knowes, and all the world shall see,
I loued her once, sweete Arden pardon me.
I could not chuse, her beauty fyred my hearte,
But time hath quench't these ouerraging coles,
And Arden though I now frequent thy house,
Tis for my sisters sake, her waiting maid
And not for hers, maiest thou enioy her long:
Hell fyre and wrathfull vengeance light on me,
If I dishonor her or iniure thee.

Mosbie with these thy protestations,
The deadly hatred of my hart is appeased,
And thou and Ile be freends, if this proue trew.
As for the base tearmes I gaue thee late,
Forget them Mosbie, I had cause to speake:
When all the Knights and gentlemen of Kent,
Make common table talke of her and thee.

Who liues that is not toucht with slannderous tongues,

Then Mosbie, to eschew the speache of men,
Upon whose generall brute all honor hangs,
Forbeare his house.

Forbeare it, nay rather frequent it more.

The worlde shall see that I distrust her not,
To warne him on the sudden from my house,
Were too confirme the rumour that is growne.

By faith my sir you say trew,
And therefore will I soiourne here a while,
Untill our enemies haue talkt their fill.
And then I hope theile cease, and at last confesse,
How causeles they haue iniurde her and me.

And I will ly at London all this tearme,
To let them see how light I wey their words.

Here enters Ales.

Husband sit down, your brekfast will be could,

Come M. Mosbie will you sit with vs,

I can not eat, but ile sit for company.

Sirra Michaell see our horse be ready.

Husband why pause ye, why eat you not,

I am not well, thers something in this broth
That is not holesome, didst thou make it Ales?

I did, and thats the cause it likes not you,

Then she throwes down the broth on the grounde.

Thers nothing that I do can please your taste.

You were best to say I would haue poysoned you,
I cannot speak or cast aside my eye:
But he Imagines, I haue stept awry.
Heres he that you cast in my teeth so oft,
Now will I be conuinced, or purge my selfe,
I charge thee speake to this mistrustfull man,
Thou that wouldst see me hange, thou Mosbye thou,
What fauour hast thou had more then a kisse
At comming or departing from the Towne?

You wrong your selfe and me, to cast these douts
Your louing husband is not Ielious.

Why gentle mistres Ales, cannot I be ill,
But youle accuse your selfe.
Franckline thou haste a boxe of Methridate,

Ile take a lytle to preuent the worst.

Do so, and let vs presently take horse,
My lyfe for yours ye shall do well enough.

Giue me a spoone, Ile eat of it my selfe,
Would it were full of poyson to the brim.
Then should my cares and troubles haue an end,
Was euer silly woman so tormented?

Be patient sweete loue, I mistrust not thee,

God will reuenge it Arden if thou doest.
For neuer woman lou'd her husband better, the I do thee,

I know it sweete Ales, cease to complaine:
Least that in teares I answer thee againe.

Come leaue this dallying, and let vs away.

Forbeare to wound me with that bitter word,
Arden shall go to London in my armes.

Loth am I to depart, yet I must go,

Wilt thou to London then, and leaue me here?
Ah if thou loue me gentle Arden stay,
Yet if thy busines be of great Import
Go if thou wilt Ile beare it as I may:
But write from London to me euery weeke,
Nay euery day, and stay no longer there
Then thou must nedes, least that I die for sorrow.

Ile write vnto thee euery other tide,
And so farewell sweete Ales till we meete next.

Farewell Husband seeing youle haue it so.
And M. Francklin, seeing you take him hence,
In hope youle hasten him home Ile giue you this
and then she kisseth him.

And if he stay the fault shall not be mine,
Mosbie farewell and see you keepe your oath.

I hope he is not Ielious of me now.

No Mosbie no, hereafter thinke of me,
As of your dearest frend, and so farewell.

Exeunt Arden, Franklin, & Michaell.

I am glad he is gone, he was about to stay.

But did you marke me then how I brake of?

I Ales, and it was cunningly performed,
But what a villaine is this painter Clarke?

Was it not a goodly poyson that he gaue?
Why he's as well now, as he was before.
It should haue bene some fine confection,
That might haue giuen the broth some daintie taste,
This powder was to grosse and populos.

But had he eaten but three spoonefulles more,
Then had he died, and our loue continued.

Why so it shall Mosbie, albeit he liue,

It is vnpossible, for I haue sworne,
Neuer hereafter to solicite thee,
Or whylest he liues, once more importune thee.

Thou shalt not neede I will importune thee.
What shall an oath make thee forsake my loue?
As if I haue not sworne as much my selfe,
And giuen my hand vnto him in the church,
Tush Mosbie oathes are wordes, and words is winde,
And winde is mutable: then I conclude,
Tis childishnes to stand vpon an oath.

Well proued Mistres Ales, yet by your leaue,
Ile keepe mine vnbroken, whilest he liues.

I doo, and spare not, his time is but short,
For if thou beest as resolute as I,
Weele haue him murdered, as he walkes the streets:
In London many alehouse Ruffins keepe,
Which as I heare will murther men for gould,
They shall be soundly fed, to pay him home:

Here enters Greene.

Ales whats he that comes yonder, knowest thou him

Mosbie be gone, I hope tis one that comes
To put in practise our intended drifts.

Exit Mosbie.

Mistres Arden you are well met,
I am sorry that your husband is from home,

When as my purposed iourney was to him,
Yet all my labour is not spent in vaine:
For I suppose that you can full discourse,
And flat resolue me of the thing I seeke.

What is it maister Greene? If that I may
Or can, with safety, I will answer you.

I heard your husband hath the grant of late,
Confirmed by letters patents from the king,
Of all the lands of the Abby of Feuershame,
Generally intitled, so that all former grants,
Are cut of, whereof I my selfe had one,
But now my interest by that is void,
This is all mistres Arden, is it trew nor no?

Trew maister Greene, the lands are his in state,
And whatsoeuer leases were before,
Are void for tearme of Maister Ardens lyfe:
He hath the grant vnder the Chancery seale.

Pardon me mistres Arden, I must speake,
For I am toucht, your husband doth me wrong:
To wring me from the little land I haue.
My liuing is my lyfe, onely that
Resteth remainder of my portion.
Desyre of welth is endles in his minde,
And he is gredy gaping still for gaine,
Nor cares he though young gentlemen do begge,
So he may scrape and hoorde vp in his poutche,
But seeing he hath taken my lands, Ile value lyfe:
As careles, as he is carefull for to get,
And tell him this from me, Ile be reuenged,
And so, as he shall wishe the Abby lands
Had rested still, within their former state.

Alas poore gentleman, I pittie you,
And wo is me that any man should want,
God knowes tis not my fault, but wonder not
Though he be harde to others, when to me,
Ah maister Greene, God knowes how I am vsde.

Why mistres Arden can the crabbed churle,
Use you vnkindely, respects he not your birth?
Your honorable freends, nor what you brought:
Why? all Kent knowes your parentage, and what you are

Ah M. Greene be it spoken in secret heere,
I neuer liue good day with him alone:
When hee is at home, then haue I froward lookes,
Hard words and blowes, to mend the match withall:
And though I might content as good a man,
Yet doth he keepe in euery corner trulles,
And weary with his trugges at home,
Then rydes he straight to London, there forsooth
He reuelles it among such filthie ones,
As counsels him to make away his wyfe:
Thus liue I dayly in continuall feare:
In sorrow, so dispairing of redres
As euery day I wish with harty prayer,
That he or I were taken forth the worlde.

Now trust me mistres Ales, it greeueth me,
So faire a creature should be so abused.
Why who would haue thought the ciuill sir, so sollen,
He lookes so smoothly now fye vpon him Churle,
And if he liue a day he liues too long,
But frolick woman, I shall be the man,
Shall set you free from all this discontent:
And if the Churle deny my intereste,
And will not yelde my lease into my hand,
Ile paye him home, what euer hap to me,

But speake you as you thinke?

I Gods my witnes, I meane plaine dealing,
For I had rather die then lose my land.

Then maister Greene be counsailed by me
Indaunger not your selfe, for such a Churle,
But hyre some Cutter for to cut him short,
And heer's ten pound, to wager them with all,
When he is dead you shall haue twenty more.

And the lands whereof my husband is possest,
Shall be intytled as they were before.

Will you keepe promise with me?

Or count me false and periurde, whilst I liue,

Then heeres my hand Ile haue him so dispatcht,
Ile vp to London straight, Ile thether poast,
And neuer rest, til I haue compast it,
Till then farewell.

Good Fortune follow all your forward thoughts

Exit Grene.

And whosoeuer doth attempt the deede,

A happie hand I wish and so farewell.
All this goes well, Mosbie I long for thee
To let thee know all that I haue contriued,

Here enters Mosbie & Clarke.

How now Ales whats the newes,

Such as will content thee well sweete hart,

Well let them passe a while, and tell me Ales,
How haue you dealt, and tempered with my sister
What will she haue my neighbour Clarke, or no?

What M. Mosbie let him wooe him self,
Thinke you that maides looke not for faire wordes,
Go to her Clarke shees all alone within,
Michaell my man is cleane out of her bookes.
I thanke you mistres Arden, I will in,
And if faire Susan, and I can make a gree,
You shall command me to the vttermost,
As farre as either goods or lyfe may streatch. Exit Clark.

Now Ales lets heare thy newes?

They be so good, that I must laugh for ioy,
Before I can begin to tell my tale.

Lets heare them, that I may laugh for company

This morning M. Greene, dick greene I meane,
From whome my husband had the Abby land,
Came hether railing for to know the trueth,
Whether my husband had the lands by grant,

I tould him all, where at he stormd a maine,
And swore he would cry quittance with the Churle,
And if he did denye his enterest
Stabbe him, whatsoeuer did befall him selfe,
When as I sawe his choller thus to rise,
I whetted on the gentleman with words
And to conclude, Mosbie, at last we grew
To composition for my husbands death,
I gaue him ten pound to hire knaues,
By some deuise to make away the Churle:
When he is dead, he should haue twenty more,
And repossesse his former lands againe,
On this we greed, and he is ridden straight
To London, to bring his death about.

But call you this good newes?

I sweete hart, be they not?

Twere cherefull newes, to hear the churle wer dead,
But trust me Ales, I take it passing ill,
You would be so forgetfull of our state,
To make recount of it to euery groome,
What? to acquaint each stranger with our drifts,
Cheefely in case of murther, why tis the way,
To make it open vnto Ardens selfe.
And bring thy selfe and me to ruine both,
Forewarnde, forearmde, who threats his enemye
Lends him a sword to guarde himselfe with all.

I did it for the best.

Well, seing tis don, cherely let it pas.
You know this Greene, is he not religious?
A man I gesse of great deuotion.

He is.

Then sweete Ales let it pas, I haue a dryft
Will quyet all, what euer is amis.

Here enters Clarke and Susan.

How now Clarke, haue you found me false?
Did I not plead the matter hard for you?

You did.

And what, Wilt be a match,

A match, I faith sir I, the day is mine,
The Painter, layes his cullours to the lyfe,
His pensel draws no shadowes in his loue.
Susan is mine.

You make her blushe.

What sister is it Clarke must be the man?

It resteth in your graunt, some words are past,
And happely we be growne vnto a match,
If you be willing that it shall be so?

Ah maister Clarke, it resteth at my grant,
You see my sister's yet at my dispose,
But so youle graunt me one thing I shall aske,
I am content my sister shall be yours.

What is it M. Mosbie?

I doo remember once in secret talke,
You tould me how you could compound by Arte,
A crucifix impoysoned:
That who so looke vpon it should waxe blinde,
And with the sent be stifeled, that ere long,
He should dye poysond, that did view it wel.
I would haue you make me such a crucifix,
And then Ile grant my sister shall be yours.

Though I am loath, because it toucheth lyfe,
Yet rather or Ile leaue sweete Susans loue,
Ile do it, and with all the haste I may.
But for whome is it?

Leaue that to vs, why Clarke, is it possible,
That you should paint and draw it out your selfe,
The cullours beeing balefull and impoysoned,
And no waies preiudice your selfe with all?

Well questioned Ales,
Clarke how answer you that?

Uery easily, Ile tell you straight,
How I doo worke of these Impoysoned drugs,

I fasten on my spectacles so close,
As nothing can any way offend my sight,
Then as I put a leafe within my nose,
So put I rubarbe to auoid the smell,
And softly as another worke I paint,

Tis very well, but against when shall I haue it,

Within this ten dayes,

Twill serue the turne.
Now Ales lets in, and see what cheere you keepe,
I hope now M. Arden is from home,
Youle giue me leaue to play your husbands part.

Mosbie you know whose maister of my hart,
He well may be the master of the house.Exeunt,