Sir Francis Acton. I came to chide you; but my words of hate Are turned to pity and compassionate grief. I came to rate you; but my brawls, you see, Melt into tears, and I must weep by thee. Here’s Master Frankford now. _Enter_ Frankford. Frankford. Good-morrow, brother; morrow, gentlemen: God, that hath laid this cross upon our heads, Might (had He pleased) have made our cause of meeting On a more fair and more contented ground; But He that made us, made us to this woe. Mistress Frankford. And is he come? Methinks that voice I know. Frankford. How do you, woman? Mistress Frankford. Well, Master Frankford, well; but shall be better, I hope, within this hour. Will you vouchsafe, Out of your grace and your humanity, To take a spotted strumpet by the hand? Frankford. This hand once held my heart in faster bonds Than now ’tis gripped by me. God pardon them That made us first break hold! Mistress Frankford. Amen, amen. Out of my zeal to Heaven, whither I’m now bound, I was so impudent to wish you here; And once more beg your pardon. O good man, And father to my children, pardon me, Pardon, oh, pardon me! My fault so heinous is, That if you in this world forgive it not, Heaven will not clear it in the world to come. Faintness hath so usurped upon my knees That kneel I cannot, but on my heart’s knees My prostrate soul lies thrown down at your feet To beg your gracious pardon. Pardon, oh, pardon me! Frankford. As freely, from the low depth of my soul, As my Redeemer hath forgiven His death, I pardon thee. I will shed tears for thee, pray with thee; And, in mere pity of thy weak estate, I’ll wish to die with thee. All. So do we all. Nicholas. So will not I; I’ll sigh and sob, but, by my faith, not die. Sir Francis Acton. O Master Frankford, all the near alliance I lose by her shall be supplied in thee: You are my brother by the nearest way; Her kindred hath fallen off, but yours doth stay. Frankford. Even as I hope for pardon at that day When the great Judge of Heaven in scarlet sits, So be thou pardoned. Though thy rash offence Divorced our bodies, thy repentant tears Unite our souls. Sir Charles Mountford. Then comfort, Mistress Frankford; You see your husband hath forgiven your fall; Then rouse your spirits, and cheer your fainting soul. Susan. How is it with you? Sir Francis Acton. How do ye feel yourself? Mistress Frankford. Not of this world. Frankford. I see you are not, and I weep to see it. My wife, the mother to my pretty babes! Both those lost names I do restore thee back, And with this kiss I wed thee once again: Though thou art wounded in thy honoured name, And with that grief upon thy death-bed liest, Honest in heart, upon my soul, thou diest. Mistress Frankford. Pardoned on earth, soul, thou in Heaven art free. Once more:[1.50] thy wife dies thus embracing thee. [_Dies_.