Jenkin. Nor is my service of any great acquaintance. Wendoll. I never bound him to me by desert: Of a mere stranger, a poor gentleman, A man by whom in no kind he could gain, He hath placed me in the height of all his thoughts, Made me companion with the best and chiefest In Yorkshire. He cannot eat without me, Nor laugh without me: I am to his body As necessary as his digestion, And equally do make him whole or sick: And shall I wrong this man? Base man! ingrate! Hast thou the power straight with thy gory hands To rip thy image from his bleeding heart? To scratch thy name from out the holy book Of his remembrance; and to wound his name That holds thy name so dear? or rend his heart To whom thy heart was knit and joined together? And yet I must: then, Wendoll, be content; Thus villains, when they would, cannot repent. Jenkin. What a strange humour is my new master in! pray God he be not mad: if he should be so, I should never have any mind to serve him in Bedlam. It may be he’s mad for missing of me. Wendoll. [_Seeing_ Jenkin.] What, Jenkin, where’s your mistress? Jenkin. Is your worship married? Wendoll. Why dost thou ask? Jenkin. Because you are my master; and if I have a mistress, I would be glad, like a good servant, to do my duty to her. Wendoll. I mean Mistress Frankford. Jenkin. Marry, sir, her husband is riding out of town, and she went very lovingly to bring him on his way to horse.[1.18] Do you see, sir? here she comes, and here I go. Wendoll. Vanish. [_Exit_ Jenkin. _Re-enter_ Mistress Frankford. Mistress Frankford. You are well met, sir; now, in troth, my husband, Before he took horse, had a great desire To speak with you: we sought about the house, Hollaed into the fields, sent every way, But could not meet you: therefore he enjoined me To do unto you his most kind commends. Nay, more; he wills you, as you prize his love, Or hold in estimation his kind friendship, To make bold in his absence, and command Even as himself were present in the house: For you must keep his table, use his servants, And be a present Frankford in his absence. Wendoll. I thank him for his love.-- Give me a name, you whose infectious tongues Are tipped with gall and poison: as you would Think on a man that had your father slain, Murdered your children, made your wives base strumpets, So call me, call me so: print in my face The most stigmatic title of a villain, For hatching treason to so true a friend. [_Aside_. Mistress Frankford. Sir, you are much beholding[1.19] to my husband; You are a man most dear in his regard.