Melt into tears, and I must weep by thee.

Here's Mr. Frankford now.

MR. FRANKFORD enters.

Fran. Good-morrow, brother; morrow, gentlemen:
God, that hath laid this cross upon our heads,
Might (had he pleas'd) have made our cause of meeting
On a more fair and more contented ground:

But he that made us, made us to his wo.

Mrs. Fra. And is he come? methinks that voice I know. Fran. How do you, woman?

Mrs. Fra. Well, Mr. Frankford, well; but shall be better

I hope within this hour. Will you vouchsafe

(Out of your grace, and your humanity)

To take a spotted strumpet by the hand?

Fran. This hand once held my heart in faster bonds Than now 'tis grip'd by me. God pardon them

That made us first break hold.

Mrs. Fra. Amen, amen.

Out of my zeal to heaven, whither I'm now bound,
I was so impudent to wish you here;

And once more beg your pardon. O! good man,
And father to my children, pardon me.

Pardon, O pardon me my fault so heinous is,
That if you in this world forgive it not,
Heaven will not clear it in the world to come.
Faintness hath so usurp'd upon my knees
That kneel I cannot but on my heart's knees
My prostrate soul lies thrown down at your feet
To beg your gracious pardon. Pardon, O pardon me!
Fran. As freely from the low depth of my

As my Redeemer hath for us given his death,
I pardon thee; I will shed tears for thee;

Pray with thee:

And, in mere pity of thy weak estate,

I'll wish to die with thee.

All. So do we all.

soul

Fran. Even as I hope for pardon at that day,

When the great judge of heaven in scarlet sits,
So be thou pardon'd. Tho' thy rash offence
Divorc'd our bodies, thy repentant tears
Unite our souls.

Char. Then comfort, mistress Frankford;
You see your husband hath forgiven your fall ;

Then rouse your spirits, and cheer your fainting soul.
Susan. How is it with you ?

Acton. How d'ye feel yourself?

Mrs. Fra. Not of this world.

Fran. I see you are not, and I weep to see it.

My wife, the mother to my pretty babes;
Both those lost names I do restore thee back,
And with this kiss I wed thee once again :
Tho' thou art wounded in thy honor'd name,
And with that grief upon thy death-bed liest;
Honest in heart, upon my soul, thou diest.

Mrs. Fra. Pardon'd on earth, soul, thou in heaven art free
Once more.
Thy wife dies thus embracing thee.

[Heywood is a sort of prose Shakspeare. His scenes are to the full as natural and affecting. But we miss the Poet, that which in Shakspeare always appears out and above the surface of the nature. Heywood's characters, his Country Gentlemen, &c., are exactly what we see (but of the best kind of what we see) in life. Shakspeare makes us believe, while we are among his lovely creations, that they are nothing but what we are familiar with, as in dreams new things seem old: but we awake, and sigh for the difference.]

THE ENGLISH TRAVELLER. BY THOMAS HEYWOOD. Young Geraldine comes home from his Travels, and finds his Playfellow, that should have been his Wife, married to old Wincott. The old Gentleman receives him hospitably, as a Friend of his Father's: takes delight to hear him tell of his Travels, and treats him in all respects like a second Father; his house being always open to him. Young Geraldine and the Wife agree not to wrong the old Gentleman.

Ger. We now are left alone.

Wife. Why, say we be; who should be jealous of us?

This is not first of many hundred nights,
That we two have been private, from the first
Of our acquaintance; when our tongues but clipt
Our mother's tongue, and could not speak it plain,
We knew each other: as in stature, so

Increast our sweet society. Since your travel,
And my late marriage, through my husband's love,
Mid-night has been as mid-day, and my bed-chamber
As free to you, as your own father's house,
And you as welcome to it.

Ger. I must confess,

It is in you, your noble courtesy ;

In him, a more than common confidence,

And, in his age, can scarce find precedent.

Wife. Most true: it is withal an argument, That both our virtues are so deep imprest In his good thoughts, he knows we cannot err. Ger. A villain were he, to deceive such trust, Or (were there one) a much worse character. Wife. And she no less, whom either beauty, youth, Time, place, or opportunity could tempt

To injure such a husband.

Ger. You deserve,

Even for his sake, to be for ever young;

And he, for yours, to have his youth renew’d:
So mutual is your true conjugal love.

Yet had the fates so pleas'd

Wife. I know your meaning.

It was once voic'd, that we two should have matcht; The world so thought and many tongues so spake;

But heaven hath now dispos'd us other ways:

And being as it is (a thing in me

Which I protest was never wisht nor sought)

Now done, I not repent it.

Ger. In those times

Of all the treasures of my hopes and love

You were th' Exchequer, they were stored in you; And had not my unfortunate Travel crost them,

They had been here reserv'd still.
Wife. Troth they had,

I should have been your trusty Treasurer.

Ger. However, let us love still, I entreat; That, neighborhood and breeding will allow ; So much, the laws divine and humble both Twixt brother and a sister will approve : Heaven then forbid that they should limit us Wish well to one another.

Wife. If they should not,

We might proclaim they were not charitable,
Which were a deadly sin but to conceive.
Ger. Will you resolve me one thing?

Wife. As to one,

That in my bosom hath a second place,
Next my dear husband.

Ger. That's the thing I crave,

And only that; to have a place next him.
Wife. Presume on that already, but perhaps

You mean to stretch it further.

Ger. Only thus far:

Your husband's old; to whom my soul does wish
A Nestor's age, so much he merits from me;

Yet if (as proof and nature daily teach,

Men cannot always live, especially

Such as are old and crazed) he be called hence,

Fairly, in full maturity of time,

And we two be reserv'd to after life;

Will you confer your widow-hood on me ?

Wife. You ask the thing I was about to beg;
Your tongue hath spoke mine own thoughts.
Ger. 'Tis enough, that word

Alone instates me happy: now, so please you,
We will divide; you to your private chamber,
I to find out my friend.

Wife. You are now my brother;
But then, my second husband.

[They part.

Young Geraldine absents himself from the house of Mr. Wincott longer than is usual to him The old Gentleman sends for him, to find out the

reason.

He pleads his Father's commands.

WINCOTT.

GERALDINE.

Ger. With due acknowledgment

Of all your more than many courtesies:
You have been my second father, and your wife
My noble and chaste mistress; all your servants
At my command; and this your bounteous table
As free and common as my father's house:
Neither 'gainst any or the least of these
Can I commence this quarrel.

Win. What might then be

The cause of this constraint, in thus absenting
Yourself from such as love you?

Ger. Out of many,

I will propose some few: the care I have
Of your (as yet unblemished) renown ;
The untoucht honor of your virtuous wife;
And (which I value least, yet dearly too)
My own fair reputation.

Win. How can these
In any way be question'd?

Ger. Oh, dear sir,

Bad tongues have been too busy with us all;
Of which I never yet had time to think,
But with sad thoughts and griefs unspeakable.
It hath been whisper'd by some wicked ones,
But loudly thunder'd in my father's ears,
By some that have maligned our happiness
(Heaven, if it can brook slander, pardon them),
That this my customary coming hither,
Hath been to base and sordid purposes;

To wrong your bed, injure her chastity,
And be mine own undoer: which, how false-
Win. As heaven is true, I know it-
Ger. Now this calumny