Cicely. Good words, Jenkin, lest you be called to answer them. Jenkin. Why, God make my mistress an honest woman! are not these good words? Pray God my new master play not the knave with my old master! is there any hurt in this? God send no villainy intended! and, if they do sup together, pray God they do not lie together! God make my mistress chaste, and make us all His servants! what harm is there in all this? Nay, more; here is my hand, thou shalt never have my heart unless thou say Amen. Cicely. Amen, I pray God, I say. _Enter_ Serving-man. Serving-man. My mistress sends that you should make less noise, to lock up the doors, and see the household all got to bed: you, Jenkin, for this night are made the porter to see the gates shut in. Jenkin. Thus, by little and little, I creep into office. Come, to kennel, my masters, to kennel; ’tis eleven o’clock, already. Serving-man. When you have locked the gates in, you must send up the keys to my mistress. Cicely. Quickly, for God’s sake, Jenkin, for I must carry them. I am neither pillow nor bolster, but I know more than both. Jenkin. To bed, good Spigot; to bed, good honest serving-creatures; and let us sleep as snug as pigs in pease-straw. [_Exeunt_. SCENE V.--_Outside_ Frankford’s _House_. _Enter_ Frankford _and_ Nicholas. Frankford. Soft, soft; we have tied our geldings to a tree, Two flight-shot[1.37] off, lest by their thundering hoofs They blab our coming back. Hear’st thou no noise? Nicholas. Hear! I hear nothing but the owl and you. Frankford. So; now my watch’s hand points upon twelve, And it is dead midnight. Where are my keys? Nicholas. Here, sir. Frankford. This is the key that opes my outward gate; This is the hall-door; this the withdrawing chamber; But this, that door that’s bawd unto my shame, Fountain and spring of all my bleeding thoughts, Where the most hallowed order and true knot Of nuptial sanctity hath been profaned; It leads to my polluted bed-chamber, Once my terrestrial heaven, now my earth’s hell, The place where sins in all their ripeness dwell. But I forget myself: now to my gate. Nicholas. It must ope with far less noise than Cripple-gate, or your plot’s dashed. Frankford. So, reach me my dark lanthorn to the rest; Tread softly, softly. Nicholas. I will walk on eggs this pace. Frankford. A general silence hath surprised the house, And this is the last door. Astonishment, Fear, and amazement play against my heart, Even as a madman beats upon a drum. Oh, keep my eyes, you Heavens, before I enter, From any sight that may transfix my soul; Or, if there be so black a spectacle, Oh, strike mine eyes stark blind; or, if not so, Lend me such patience to digest my grief That I may keep this white and virgin hand From any violent outrage or red murder! And with that prayer I enter. [_Exeunt_.