Shafton. To rid you from these contemplations, Three hundred pounds you shall receive of me; Nay, five for fail. Come, sir; the sight of gold Is the most sweet receipt for melancholy, And will revive your spirits: you shall hold law With your proud adversaries. Tush, let Frank Acton Wage with his knighthood like expense with me, And he will sink, he will. Nay, good Sir Charles, Applaud your fortune, and your fair escape From all these perils. Sir Charles Mountford. O sir, they have undone me. Two thousand and five hundred pound a year My father, at his death, possessed me of; All which the envious Acton made me spend. And, notwithstanding all this large expense, I had much ado to gain my liberty: And I have only now a house of pleasure, With some five hundred pounds, reserved Both to maintain me and my loving sister. Shafton. [_Aside_.] That must I have, it lies convenient for me: If I can fasten but one finger on him, With my full hand I’ll gripe him to the heart. ’Tis not for love I proffered him this coin, But for my gain and pleasure. [_Aloud_.] Come, Sir Charles, I know you have need of money; take my offer. Sir Charles Mountford. Sir, I accept it, and remain indebted Even to the best of my unable power. Come, gentlemen, and see it tendered down. [_Exeunt_. SCENE III.--_A Room in_ Frankford’s _House_. _Enter_ Wendoll _melancholy_. Wendoll. I am a villain if I apprehend But such a thought: then, to attempt the deed,-- Slave, thou art damned without redemption. I’ll drive away this passion with a song. A song! ha, ha: a song! as if, fond man, Thy eyes could swim in laughter, when thy soul Lies drenched and drownèd in red tears of blood. I’ll pray, and see if God within my heart Plant better thoughts. Why, prayers are meditations; And when I meditate (O God, forgive me!) It is on her divine perfections. I will forget her; I will arm myself Not to entertain a thought of love to her: And, when I come by chance into her presence, I’ll hale these balls until my eye-strings crack, From being pulled and drawn to look that way. [_Enter over the stage_, Frankford, Mistress Frankford, _and_ Nicholas.][1.17] O God! O God! with what a violence I’m hurried to mine own destruction. There goest thou, the most perfectest man That ever England bred a gentleman; And shall I wrong his bed? Thou God of thunder! Stay in thy thoughts of vengeance and of wrath, Thy great, almighty, and all-judging hand From speedy execution on a villain: A villain, and a traitor to his friend. _Enter_ Jenkin. Jenkin. Did your worship call? Wendoll. He doth maintain me, he allows me largely Money to spend---- Jenkin. By my faith, so do not you me; I cannot get a cross of you. Wendoll. My gelding, and my man---- Jenkin. That’s Sorrell and I. Wendoll. This kindness grows of no alliance ’twixt us----