Frankford. My heart was with you, and my mind was on you. Fie, Master Cranwell! you are still thus sad? A stool, a stool. Where’s Jenkin, and where’s Nick? ’Tis supper-time at least an hour ago. What’s the best news abroad? Wendoll. I know none good. Frankford. But I know too much bad. [_Aside_. _Enter_ Jenkin _and_ Butler _with a table-cloth, bread, trenchers, and salt_. Cranwell. Methinks, sir, you might have that interest In your wife’s brother, to be more remiss In his hard dealing against poor Sir Charles, Who, as I hear, lies in York Castle, needy, And in great want. [_Exeunt_ Jenkin _and_ Butler. Frankford. Did not more weighty business of my own Hold me away, I would have laboured peace Betwixt them, with all care; indeed I would, sir. Mistress Frankford. I’ll write unto my brother earnestly In that behalf. Wendoll. A charitable deed, And will beget the good opinion Of all your friends that love you, Mistress Frankford. Frankford. That’s you for one; I know you love Sir Charles, And my wife too, well. Wendoll. He deserves the love Of all true gentlemen; be yourselves judge. Frankford. But supper, ho! Now as thou lov’st me, Wendoll, Which I am sure thou dost, be merry, pleasant, And frolic it to-night. Sweet Master Cranwell, Do you the like. Wife, I protest my heart Was ne’er more bent on sweet alacrity. Where be those lazy knaves to serve in supper? _Re-enter_ Nicholas. Nicholas. Here’s a letter, sir. Frankford. Whence comes it? and who brought it? Nicholas. A stripling that below attends your answer, And, as he tells me, it is sent from York. Frankford. Have him into the cellar; let him taste A cup of our March beer: go, make him drink. [_Reads the letter_. Nicholas. I’ll make him drunk, if he be a Trojan. Frankford. My boots and spurs! where’s Jenkin? God forgive me, How I neglect my business! Wife, look here; I have a matter to be tried to-morrow By eight o’clock, and my attorney writes me, I must be there betimes with evidence, Or it will go against me. Where’s my boots? _Re-enter_ Jenkin _with boots and spurs_. Mistress Frankford. I hope your business craves no such despatch That you must ride to-night. Wendoll. [_Aside_.] I hope it doth. Frankford. God’s me! no such despatch! Jenkin, my boots. Where’s Nick? Saddle my roan, And the grey dapple for himself. Content ye, It much concerns me. Gentle Master Cranwell, And Master Wendoll, in my absence use The very ripest pleasures of my house. Wendoll. Lord! Master Frankford, will you ride to-night? The ways are dangerous. Frankford. Therefore will I ride Appointed well; and so shall Nick my man. Mistress Frankford. I’ll call you up by five o’clock to-morrow.