Mistress Frankford. I would I had no tongue, no ears, no eyes, No apprehension, no capacity. When do you spurn me like a dog? when tread me Under your feet? when drag me by the hair? Though I deserve a thousand thousand fold More than you can inflict: yet, once my husband, For womanhood, to which I am a shame, Though once an ornament--even for His sake That hath redeemed our souls, mark not my face, Nor hack me with your sword; but let me go Perfect and undeformèd to my tomb. I am not worthy that I should prevail In the least suit; no, not to speak to you, Nor look on you, nor to be in your presence. Yet, as an abject, this one suit I crave; This granted, I am ready for my grave. [_Kneels_. Frankford. My God, with patience arm me! Rise, nay, rise, And I’ll debate with thee. Was it for want Thou playedst the strumpet? Wast thou not supplied With every pleasure, fashion, and new toy, Nay, even beyond my calling? Mistress Frankford. I was. Frankford. Was it then disability in me; Or in thine eye seemed he a properer man? Mistress Frankford. Oh, no. Frankford. Did not I lodge thee in my bosom? Wear thee here in my heart? Mistress Frankford. You did. Frankford. I did, indeed; witness my tears I did. Go, bring my infants hither. [_Enter_ Servant _with two_ Children.] O Nan! O Nan! If neither fear of shame, regard of honour, The blemish of my house, nor my dear love Could have withheld thee from so lewd a fact, Yet for these infants, these young harmless souls, On whose white brows thy shame is charactered, And grows in greatness as they wax in years,-- Look but on them, and melt away in tears. Away with them! lest, as her spotted body Hath stained their names with stripe of bastardy, So her adulterous breath may blast their spirits With her infectious thoughts. Away with them! [_Exeunt_ Servant _and_ Children. Mistress Frankford. In this one life I die ten thousand deaths. Frankford. Stand up, stand up; I will do nothing rashly; I will retire a while into my study, And thou shalt hear thy sentence presently. [_Exit_. Mistress Frankford. ’Tis welcome, be it death. O me, base strumpet, That, having such a husband, such sweet children, Must enjoy neither! Oh, to redeem my honour, I would have this hand cut off, these my breasts seared, Be racked, strappadoed, put to any torment: Nay, to whip but this scandal out, I would hazard The rich and dear redemption of my soul. He cannot be so base as to forgive me; Nor I so shameless to accept his pardon. O women, women, you that yet have kept Your holy matrimonial vow unstained, Make me your instance: when you tread awry, Your sins, like mine, will on your conscience lie. _Enter_ Cicely, Jenkin, _and all the serving-men as newly come out of bed_. All. O mistress, mistress, what have you done, mistress?