_Sailor._ Faith, Dick Reede, it is to little end: His conscience is too liberal, and he too niggardly To part from any thing may do thee good. _Reede._ He is coming from Shorlow as I understand; Here I’ll intercept him, for at his house He never will vouchsafe to speak with me. If prayers and fair entreaties will not serve, Or make no battery in his flinty breast, _Here enters Franklin, Arden, and Michael._ I’ll curse the carle, and see what that will do. See where he comes to further my intent!-- 10 Master Arden, I am now bound to the sea; My coming to you was about the plat Of ground which wrongfully you detain from me. Although the rent of it be very small, Yet it will help my wife and children, Which here I leave in Feversham, God knows, Needy and bare: for Christ’s sake, let them have it! _Arden._ Franklin, hearest thou this fellow speak? That which he craves I dearly bought of him, Although the rent of it was ever mine.-- 20 Sirrah, you that ask these questions, If with thy clamorous impeaching tongue Thou rail on me, as I have heard thou dost, I’ll lay thee up so close a twelve-month’s day, As thou shalt neither see the sun nor moon. Look to it, for, as surely as I live, I’ll banish pity if thou use me thus. _Reede._ What, wilt thou do me wrong and threat me too, Nay, then, I’ll tempt thee, Arden, do thy worst. God, I beseech thee, show some miracle 30 On thee or thine, in plaguing thee for this. That plot of ground which thou detains from me, I speak it in an agony of spirit, Be ruinous and fatal unto thee! Either there be butchered by thy dearest friends, Or else be brought for men to wonder at, Or thou or thine miscarry in that place, Or there run mad and end thy cursèd days! _Franklin._ Fie, bitter knave, bridle thine envious tongue; For curses are like arrows shot upright, 40 Which falling down light on the shooter’s head. _Reede._ Light where they will! Were I upon the sea, As oft I have in many a bitter storm, And saw a dreadful southern flaw at hand, The pilot quaking at the doubtful storm, And all the sailors praying on their knees, Even in that fearful time would I fall down, And ask of God, whate’er betide of me, Vengeance on Arden or some misevent To show the world what wrong the carle hath done. This charge I’ll leave with my distressful wife, 51 My children shall be taught such prayers as these; And thus I go, but leave my curse with thee. [_Exeunt Reede and Sailor._ _Arden._ It is the railingest knave in Christendom, And oftentimes the villain will be mad; It greatly matters not what he says, But I assure you I ne’er did him wrong. _Franklin._ I think so, Master Arden. _Arden._ Now that our horses are gone home before, My wife may haply meet me on the way. 60 For God knows she is grown passing kind of late, And greatly changed from The old humour of her wonted frowardness, And seeks by fair means to redeem old faults.