_Michael._ Thus feeds the lamb securely on the down, Whilst through the thicket of an arbour brake The hunger-bitten wolf o’erpries his haunt And takes advantage for to eat him up. Ah, harmless Arden, how hast thou misdone, That thus thy gentle life is levelled at? The many good turns that thou hast done to me. 200 Now must I quittance with betraying thee. I that should take the weapon in my hand And buckler thee from ill-intending foes, Do lead thee with a wicked fraudful smile, As unsuspected, to the slaughter-house. So have I sworn to Mosbie and my mistress, So have I promised to the slaughtermen; And should I not deal currently with them, Their lawless rage would take revenge on me. Tush, I will spurn at mercy for this once: 210 Let pity lodge where feeble women lie, I am resolved, and Arden needs must die. [_Exit Michael._ II. ii. 3. Michael’s letter is a curious effort at euphuism which calls to mind ‘Love’s Labour’s Lost.’ Note the fabulous natural history, the alliteration, and the alliterative proverb. II. ii. 51. _old filching_ = ‘rare filching.’ Cf. ‘Yonder’s old coil at hand.’--_Much Ado_, V. ii. 98. II. ii. 63. The Counter was a London prison. ACT III SCENE I _A Room in Franklin’s House, at Aldersgate._ _Enter Arden and Franklin._ _Arden._ No, Franklin, no: if fear or stormy threats, If love of me or care of womanhood, If fear of God or common speech of men, Who mangle credit with their wounding words, And couch dishonour as dishonour buds, Might join repentance in her wanton thoughts, No question then but she would turn the leaf And sorrow for her dissolution; But she is rooted in her wickedness, Perverse and stubborn, not to be reclaimed; 10 Good counsel is to her as rain to weeds, And reprehension makes her vice to grow As Hydra’s head that plenished by decay. Her faults, methink, are painted in my face, For every searching eye to overread; And Mosbie’s name, a scandal unto mine, Is deeply trenchèd in my blushing brow. Ah, Franklin, Franklin, when I think on this, My heart’s grief rends my other powers Worse than the conflict at the hour of death. 20 _Franklin._ Gentle Arden, leave this sad lament: She will amend, and so your griefs will cease; Or else she’ll die, and so your sorrows end. If neither of these two do haply fall, Yet let your comfort be that others bear Your woes, twice doubled all, with patience. _Arden._ My house is irksome; there I cannot rest. _Franklin._ Then stay with me in London; go not home. _Arden._ Then that base Mosbie doth usurp my room And makes his triumph of my being thence. 30 At home or not at home, where’er I be, Here, here it lies, ah Franklin, here it lies That will not out till wretched Arden dies. _Here enters Michael._ _Franklin._ Forget your griefs a while; here comes your man. _Arden._ What a-clock is’t, sirrah? _Michael._ Almost ten. _Arden._ See, see, how runs away the weary time! Come, Master Franklin, shall we go to bed?