Sheriff. A Serjeant, a Keeper, Officers, Falconers, Huntsmen, a Coachman, Carters, Servants, Musicians. Mistress Frankford. Susan, Sister of Sir Charles. Cicely, Maid to Mistress Frankford. Women Servants. SCENE--The North of England. A WOMAN KILLED WITH KINDNESS. ACT THE FIRST. SCENE I.--_A Room in_ Frankford’s _House_. _Enter_ Master Frankford, Mistress Frankford, Sir Francis Acton, Sir Charles Mountford, Master Malby, Master Wendoll, _and_ Master Cranwell. Sir Francis Acton. Some music there: none lead the bride a dance? Sir Charles Mountford. Yes, would she dance “The Shaking of the Sheets;”[1.01] But that’s the dance her husband means to lead her. Wendoll. That’s not the dance that every man must dance, According to the ballad. Sir Francis Acton. Music, ho! By your leave, sister;--by your husband’s leave, I should have said: the hand that but this day Was given you in the church I’ll borrow: sound! This marriage music hoists me from the ground. Frankford. Ay, you may caper, you are light and free: Marriage hath yoked my heels; pray then pardon me. Sir Francis Acton. I’ll have you dance too, brother. Sir Charles Mountford. Master Frankford, You are a happy man, sir; and much joy Succeed your marriage mirth! you have a wife So qualified, and with such ornaments Both of the mind and body. First, her birth Is noble, and her education such As might become the daughter of a prince: Her own tongue speaks all tongues, and her own hand Can teach all strings to speak in their best grace, From the shrillest treble to the hoarsest base. To end her many praises in one word, She’s beauty and perfection’s eldest daughter, Only found by yours, though many a heart hath sought her. Frankford. But that I know your virtues and chaste thoughts, I should be jealous of your praise, Sir Charles. Cranwell. He speaks no more than you approve. Malby. Nor flatters he that gives to her her due. Mistress Frankford. I would your praise could find a fitter theme Than my imperfect beauties to speak on: Such as they be, if they my husband please, They suffice me now I am marrièd: His sweet content is like a flattering glass, To make my face seem fairer to mine eye; But the least wrinkle from his stormy brow Will blast the roses in my cheeks that grow. Sir Francis Acton. A perfect wife already, meek and patient: How strangely the word “husband” fits your mouth, Not married three hours since! Sister, ’tis good; You, that begin betimes thus, must needs prove Pliant and duteous in your husband’s love.-- Gramercies, brother, wrought her to’t already; Sweet husband, and a curtsey, the first day! Mark this, mark this, you that are bachelors, And never took the grace of honest man; Mark this, against you marry, this one phrase: “In a good time that man both wins and woos, That takes his wife down in her wedding shoes.”[1.02]