No, 'twill not hold out, boy. Frank. My company hath not been to your purse so chargeable. I do not spend so much. Old For. Thou spend'st thy time, More pretious than thy coin, consum'st thy hopes, Thy fortunes, and thy after-expectations, In drowning surfeits. Tell me, canst thou call Use thy discretion; somewhat I divine; Mine is the care, the loss or profit thine. [Exit. Susan. Brother, be ruled. My father grieves to see you given to these boundless riots. Will you follow? Susan. 'Tis well; he'll look for you within. [Exeunt severally. SCENE II. A Tavern. Enter RAINSFORD, GOODWIN, and FOSTER. Rains. Boy, my cloak. Enter a Drawer. Good. Our cloaks, sirrah! Fos. Why, drawer! Draw. Here, sir. Rains. Some canary sack, and tobacco. Draw. You shall, sir. Wilt please you stay supper? Rains. Yes, marry, will we, sir: let's have the best cheer the kitchen yields. The pipe, sirrah ! Draw. Here, sir. Rains. Will Frank be here at supper? Good. So, sir, he promised, and presumes he will not fail his hour. Rains. Some sack, boy! I am all lead within. There's not mirth in me; nor was I wont to be so lumpish sad. Reach me the glass. What's this? Draw. Good sherry sack, sir. Rains. I meant canary, sir. What? hast no brains? (strikes him.) Draw. Pox o' your brains! Are your fingers so light? Draw. You shall have canary presently. Good. When was he wont to be in this sad strain? Excepting some few sudden melancholies, there lives not one more free and sociable. Fos. I am too well acquainted with his humour, to stir his blood in the least distemperature. Coz, I'll be with you here. Re-enter Drawer. Rains. Do, come to me. Have you hit upon the right canary now? or could your hog's head find a Spanish butt? A health! Good. Were it my height, I'll pledge it. Fos. How do you now, man? Rains. Well, well, exceeding well; my melancholy sadness steals away, and, by degrees, shrinks from my troubled heart. Come, let's be merry. More tobacco, boy; and bring in supper. Enter FRANK. Fos. Welcome! welcome! Wilt thou be here, old lad? Good. Or here? Frank. Wherefore hath Nature lent me two hands, but to use them both at once? My cloak ! I am for you here and here. Fos. Bid them make haste of supper. Some discourse, to pass away the time. Rains. Now, Frank, how stole you from your father's arms? You have been schooled, no doubt: fie, fie upon't. Ere I would live in such base servitude To an old gray beard, 'sfoot, I'd hang myself. For. O pardon him! you know he is my father, And what he doth is but paternal love. Tho' I be wild, I am not so past reason, His person to despise, though I his counsel Rains. 'Sfoot, he's a fool. Frank. A fool! y're a Fost. Nay, gentlemen. Frank. Yet I restrain my tongue, Hoping you speak out of some spleenful rashness, And no delib'rate malice; and it may be You are sorry that a word so unreverent, Rains. Sorry, sir boy! You will not take exceptions? Frank. Not against you with willingness, whom I have loved so long. Yet you might think me a most dutiless and ungracious son, to give smooth countenance unto my father's wrong. Come, I dare swear 'twas not your malice; and I take it so. Let's frame some other talk. Hear, gentlemenRains. But hear me, boy: it seems, sir, you are angry. Frank. Not thoroughly yet. Rains. Then what would anger thee? Frank. Nothing from you. Rains. Of all things under heaven, What would'st thou loathest have me do? Frank. I would Not have you wrong my reverend father, and I hope you will not. Rains. Thy father's an old dotard. Frank. I could not brook this at a monarch's hands; Much less at thine. Rains. Ay, boy! then take you that. [Flings wine in his face. Frank. I was not born to brook this. [They fight. Oh! I am slain. (Dies.) Good. Sweet coz, what have you done! Shift for yourself. Rains. Away! Enter two Drawers. [Exeunt. 1. Draw. Stay the gentlemen: they have killed a man. Oh, sweet Mr. Francis! One run to his father's. 2. Draw. Had not we drawers enough in the house, but they must needs draw too? 1. Draw. They have drawn blood of this gentleman, that I have drawn many a quart of wine to. Oh, sweet Mr. Francis! Hark, hark! I hear his father's voice below. Ten to one he is come to fetch him home to supper: and now he may carry him home to his grave. See, here he comes. Enter the Host, Old FOREST, and SUSAN. Host. You must take comfort, sir. Old For. Would Heaven I could; or that I might beg patience. Sus. Oh, my brother! Old For. Is he dead, is he dead, girl? Sus. Oh, dead sir: Frank is dead. Old For. Alas, alas! my boy! I have not the heart To look upon his wide and gaping wounds. Hide them, oh, hide them from me, lest those mouths Through which his life past through do swallow mine. Fearful and pitiful, to you that are A stranger to my dead boy? Host. How can it otherwise? Old For. Oh, me, most wretched of all wretched men! If to a stranger his warm bleeding wounds Appear so grisly and so lamentable, How will they seem to me, who am his father? Will they not hale my eyeballs from their rounds, Old For. Dost long to have me blind? Then I'll behold them, since I know thy mind. Sus. Alas, my father's dead too! Help to retire his spirits, overtravelled With age and sorrow. Host. Mr. Forrest! Sus. Father! Gentle sir, Old For. What says my girl? good morrow! what's o'clock ? That you are up so early? Call up Frank. Tell him he lies too long abed this morning. 'Was wont to call the sun up and to raise The early lark, and mount her 'mongst the clouds. Will he not up? rise, rise, thou sluggish boy! Sus. Alas! he cannot, father. Old For. Cannot! why? Sus. Do you not see his bloodless colour fail? Old For. Perhaps he's sickly, that he looks so pale? Sus. Do you not feel his pulse no motion keep? How still he lies! Old For. Then is he fast asleep. Sus. Do you not see his fatal eyelid close? Old For. Speak softly. Hinder not his soft repose. Sus. Oh, see you not these purple conduits run? Know you these wounds? Old For. Oh, me! my murder'd son! |