_Enter_ Sir Francis Acton _and_ Malby. Sir Francis Acton. Again to prison! Malby, hast thou seen A poor slave better tortured? Shall we hear The music of his voice cry from the grate,[1.22] “Meat for the Lord’s sake”? No, no, yet I am not Throughly revenged. They say he hath a pretty wench Unto his sister: shall I, in mercy-sake To him and to his kindred, bribe the fool To shame herself by lewd dishonest lust? I’ll proffer largely; but, the deed being done, I’ll smile to see her base confusion. Malby. Methinks, Sir Francis, you are full revenged For greater wrongs than he can proffer you. See where the poor sad gentlewoman stands. Sir Francis Acton. Ha, ha! now will I flout her poverty, Deride her fortunes, scoff her base estate; My very soul the name of Mountford hates. But stay, my heart! oh, what a look did fly To strike my soul through with thy piercing eye! I am enchanted; all my spirits are fled, And with one glance my envious spleen struck dead. Susan. Acton! that seeks our blood. [_Runs away_. Sir Francis Acton. O chaste and fair! Malby. Sir Francis, why, Sir Francis, zounds! in a trance? Sir Francis, what cheer, man? Come, come, how is’t? Sir Francis Acton. Was she not fair? Or else this judging eye Cannot distinguish beauty. Malby. She was fair. Sir Francis Acton. She was an angel in a mortal’s shape, And ne’er descended from old Mountford’s line. But soft, soft, let me call my wits together. A poor, poor wench, to my great adversary Sister, whose very souls denounce stern war, One against other. How now, Frank? turned fool Or madman, whether? But no; master of My perfect senses and directest wits. Then why should I be in this violent humour Of passion and of love; and with a person So different every way, and so opposed In all contractions, and still-warring actions? Fie, fie; how I dispute against my soul! Come, come; I’ll gain her, or in her fair quest Purchase my soul free and immortal rest. [_Exeunt_. SCENE II.--_A Sitting-Room in_ Frankford’s _House_. _Enter_ Serving-Men, _one with a voider and a wooden knife_[1.23] _to take away; another with the salt and bread; another with the table-cloth and napkins; another with the carpet:_[1.24] Jenkin _follows them with two lights_. Jenkin. So, march in order, and retire in battle array. My master and the guests have supped already, all’s taken away: here, now spread for the serving-men in the hall. Butler, it belongs to your office. Butler. I know it, Jenkin. What d’ye call the gentleman that supped there to-night? Jenkin. Who, my master? Butler. No, no; Master Wendoll, he’s a daily guest: I mean the gentleman that came but this afternoon.