_Franklin._ Happy the change that alters for the best! But see in any case you make no speech Of the cheer we had at my Lord Cheiny’s, Although most bounteous and liberal, For that will make her think herself more wronged, In that we did not carry her along; 70 For sure she grieved that she was left behind. _Arden._ Come, Franklin, let us strain to mend our pace, And take her unawares playing the cook; _Here enters Alice and Mosbie._ For I believe she’ll strive to mend our cheer. _Franklin._ Why, there’s no better creatures in the world, Than women are when they are in good humours. _Arden._ Who is that? Mosbie? what, so familiar? Injurious strumpet, and thou ribald knave, Untwine those arms. _Alice._ Ay, with a sugared kiss let them untwine. 80 _Arden._ Ah, Mosbie! perjured beast! bear this and all! _Mosbie._ And yet no horned beast; the horns are thine. _Franklin._ O monstrous! Nay, then it is time to draw. _Alice._ Help, help! they murder my husband. _Here enters Will and Shakebag._ _Shakebag._ Zounds, who injures Master Mosbie? Help, Will! I am hurt. _Mosbie._ I may thank you, Mistress Arden, for this wound. [_Exeunt Mosbie, Will, and Shakebag._ _Alice._ Ah, Arden, what folly blinded thee? Ah, jealous harebrained man, what hast thou done! When we, to welcome thee with intended sport, Came lovingly to meet thee on thy way, 90 Thou drew’st thy sword, enraged with jealousy, And hurt thy friend whose thoughts were free from harm: All for a worthless kiss and joining arms, Both done but merrily to try thy patience. And me unhappy that devised the jest, Which, though begun in sport, yet ends in blood! _Franklin._ Marry, God defend me from such a jest! _Alice._ Could’st thou not see us friendly smile on thee, When we joined arms, and when I kissed his cheek? Hast thou not lately found me over-kind? 100 Did’st thou not hear me cry ‘they murder thee’? Called I not help to set my husband free? No, ears and all were witched; ah me accursed To link in liking with a frantic man! Henceforth I’ll be thy slave, no more thy wife, For with that name I never shall content thee. If I be merry, thou straightways thinks me light; If sad, thou sayest the sullens trouble me; If well attired, thou thinks I will be gadding; If homely, I seem sluttish in thine eye: 110 Thus am I still, and shall be while I die. Poor wench abused by thy misgovernment! _Arden._ But is it for truth that neither thou nor he Intendedst malice in your misdemeanour? _Alice._ The heavens can witness of our harmless thoughts _Arden._ Then pardon me, sweet Alice, and forgive this fault! Forget but this and never see the like. Impose me penance, and I will perform it, For in thy discontent I find a death,-- A death tormenting more than death itself. 120