Mistress Frankford. What shall I say? My soul is wandering, and hath lost her way. Oh, Master Wendoll! Oh! Wendoll. Sigh not, sweet saint; For every sigh you breathe draws from my heart A drop of blood. Mistress Frankford. I ne’er offended yet: My fault, I fear, will in my brow be writ. Women that fall, not quite bereft of grace, Have their offences noted in their face. I blush and am ashamed. Oh, Master Wendoll, Pray God I be not born to curse your tongue, That hath enchanted me! This maze I am in I fear will prove the labyrinth of sin. _Re-enter_ Nicholas _behind_. Wendoll. The path of pleasure, and the gate to bliss, Which on your lips I knock at with a kiss. Nicholas. [_Aside_.] I’ll kill the rogue. Wendoll. Your husband is from home, your bed’s no blab. Nay, look not down and blush. [_Exeunt_ Wendoll _and_ Mistress Frankford. Nicholas. Zounds! I’ll stab. Ay, Nick, was it thy chance to come just in the nick? I love my master, and I hate that slave: I love my mistress, but these tricks I like not. My master shall not pocket up this wrong; I’ll eat my fingers first. What say’st thou, metal? Does not the rascal Wendoll go on legs That thou must cut off? Hath he not ham-strings That thou must hough? Nay, metal, thou shalt stand To all I say. I’ll henceforth turn a spy, And watch them in their close conveyances. I never looked for better of that rascal, Since he came miching[1.20] first into our house: It is that Satan hath corrupted her, For she was fair and chaste. I’ll have an eye In all their gestures. Thus I think of them, If they proceed as they have done before: Wendoll’s a knave, my mistress is a---- [_Exit_. ACT THE THIRD. SCENE I.--_A Room in_ Sir Charles Mountford’s _House_. _Enter_ Sir Charles Mountford _and_ Susan. Sir Charles Mountford. Sister, you see we are driven to hard shift To keep this poor house we have left unsold; I am now enforced to follow husbandry, And you to milk; and do we not live well? Well, I thank God. Susan. O brother, here’s a change, Since old Sir Charles died, in our father’s house! Sir Charles Mountford. All things on earth thus change, some up, some down; Content’s a kingdom, and I wear that crown. _Enter_ Shafton _with a_ Serjeant. Shafton. Good morrow, morrow, Sir Charles: what, with your sister, Plying your husbandry?--Serjeant, stand off.-- You have a pretty house here, and a garden, And goodly ground about it. Since it lies So near a lordship that I lately bought, I would fain buy it of you. I will give you----