Wendoll. To recompense her wrongs, what canst thou do? Thou hast made her husbandless and childless too. Mistress Frankford. I have no more to say. Speak not for me; Yet you may tell your master what you see. Nicholas. I’ll do’t. [_Exit_. Wendoll. I’ll speak to her, and comfort her in grief. Oh! but her wound cannot be cured with words. No matter though, I’ll do my best good-will To work a cure on her whom I did kill. Mistress Frankford. So, now unto my coach, then to my home, So to my death-bed; for from this sad hour I never will nor eat, nor drink, nor taste Of any cates that may preserve my life: I never will nor smile, nor sleep, nor rest; But when my tears have washed my black soul white, Sweet Saviour, to Thy hands I yield my sprite. Wendoll. O Mistress Frankford-- Mistress Frankford. Oh, for God’s sake fly! The devil doth come to tempt me ere I die. My coach! this fiend, that with an angel’s face Conjured mine honour, till he sought my wrack, In my repentant eyes seems ugly black. [_Exeunt all, except_ Wendoll _and_ Jenkin; _the_ Carters _whistling_. Jenkin. What, my young master that fled in his shirt! How come you by your clothes again? You have made our house in a sweet pickle, ha’ ye not, think you? What, shall I serve you still, or cleave to the old house? Wendoll. Hence, slave! away with thy unseasoned mirth! Unless thou canst shed tears, and sigh, and howl, Curse thy sad fortunes, and exclaim on fate, Thou art not for my turn. Jenkin. Marry, an you will not, another will: farewell, and be hanged! Would you had never come to have kept this coil[1.47] within our doors; we shall ha’ you run away like a sprite again. [_Exit_. Wendoll. She’s gone to death; I live to want and woe; Her life, her sins, and all upon my head. And I must now go wander, like a Cain, In foreign countries and remoted climes, Where the report of my ingratitude Cannot be heard. I’ll over first to France, And so to Germany and Italy; Where when I have recovered, and by travel Gotten those perfect tongues,[1.48] and that these rumours May in their height abate, I will return: And I divine (however now dejected) My worth and parts being by some great man praised, At my return I may in court be raised. [_Exit_. SCENE IV.--_Before the Manor_. _Enter_ Sir Francis Acton, Susan, Sir Charles Mountford, Cranwell, _and_ Malby. Sir Francis Acton. Brother, and now my wife, I think these troubles Fall on my head by justice of the Heavens, For being so strict to you in your extremities: But we are now atoned.[1.49] I would my sister Could with like happiness o’ercome her griefs, As we have ours. Susan. You tell us, Master Cranwell, wondrous things, Touching the patience of that gentleman, With what strange virtue he demeans his grief. Cranwell. I told you what I was a witness of; It was my fortune to lodge there that night.