[_Exeunt Arden and Michael._ _Manet Franklin._ _Franklin._ I pray you, go before: I’ll follow you. --Ah, what a hell is fretful jealousy! 40 What pity-moving words, what deep-fetched sighs, What grievous groans and overlading woes Accompanies this gentle gentleman! Now will he shake his care-oppressèd head, Then fix his sad eyes on the sullen earth, Ashamed to gaze upon the open world; Now will he cast his eyes up towards the heavens, Looking that ways for redress of wrong: Sometimes he seeketh to beguile his grief And tells a story with his careful tongue; 50 Then comes his wife’s dishonour in his thoughts And in the middle cutteth off his tale, Pouring fresh sorrow on his weary limbs. So woe-begone, so inly charged with woe, Was never any lived and bare it so. _Here enters Michael._ _Michael._ My master would desire you come to bed. _Franklin._ Is he himself already in his bed? [_Exit Franklin. Manet Michael._ _Michael._ He is, and fain would have the light away. --Conflicting thoughts, encampèd in my breast, Awake me with the echo of their strokes, 60 And I, a judge to censure either side, Can give to neither wishèd victory. My master’s kindness pleads to me for life With just demand, and I must grant it him: My mistress she hath forced me with an oath, For Susan’s sake, the which I may not break, For that is nearer than a master’s love: That grim-faced fellow, pitiless Black Will, And Shakebag, stern in bloody stratagem, --Two rougher ruffians never lived in Kent,-- 70 Have sworn my death, if I infringe my vow, A dreadful thing to be considered of. Methinks I see them with their bolstered hair Staring and grinning in thy gentle face, And in their ruthless hands their daggers drawn, Insulting o’er thee with a peck of oaths, Whilst thou submissive, pleading for relief, Art mangled by their ireful instruments. Methinks I hear them ask where Michael is, And pitiless Black Will cries: ‘Stab the slave! 80 The peasant will detect the tragedy!’ The wrinkles in his foul death-threat’ning face Gapes open wide, like graves to swallow men. My death to him is but a merriment, And he will murder me to make him sport. He comes, he comes! ah. Master Franklin, help! Call on the neighbours, or we are but dead! _Here enters Franklin and Arden._ _Franklin._ What dismal outcry calls me from my rest? _Arden._ What hath occasioned such a fearful cry? Speak, Michael: hath any injured thee? 90 _Michael._ Nothing, sir; but as I fell asleep, Upon the threshold leaning to the stairs, I had a fearful dream that troubled me, And in my slumber thought I was beset With murderer thieves that came to rifle me. My trembling joints witness my inward fear: I crave your pardons for disturbing you. _Arden._ So great a cry for nothing I ne’er heard. What? are the doors fast locked and all things safe? _Michael._ I cannot tell; I think I locked the doors. 100