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I'll make her more worth than twenty painters can ;

For I will rid mine elder brother away,

And then the farm of Bolton is mine own.

Who would not venture upon house and land,

When he may have it for a right down blow ?

Here enters Mosbie.

Alice. Yonder comes Mosbie. Michael, get tnee gone,

And let not him nor any know thy drifts.

Exit Michael.

Mosbie, my love !

Mosbie. Away, I say, and talk not to me now.

Alice. A word or two, sweet heart, and then I will.

'Tis yet but early days, thou needst not fear.

Mosbie. Where is your husband ?

Alice. 'Tis now high water, and he is at the quay.

Mosbie. There let him be ; henceforward know me not.

Alice. Is this the end of all thy solemn oaths ?

Is this the fruit thy reconcilement buds ?

Have I for this given thee so many favours,

Incurred my husband's hate, and, out alas I

Made shipwreck of mine honour for thy sake ?

And dost thou say ' henceforward know me not ' ?

Remember, when I lock'd thee in my closet,

What were thy words and mine ; did we not both

Decree to murder Arden in the night ?

The heavens can witness, and the world can tell,

Before I saw that falsehood look of thine,

'Fore I was tangled with thy 'ticing speech,

Arden to me was dearer than my soul, —

And shall be still : base peasant, get thee gone,

And boast not of thy conquest over me, 200

Gotten by witchcraft and mere sorcery !

For what hast thou to countenance my love,

Being descended of a noble house,

And matched already with a gentleman

Whose servant thou may'st be !— and so farewell.

Mosbie. Ungentle and unkind Alice, now I see

That which I ever feared, and find too true :

A woman's love is as the lightning-flame.

Which even in bursting forth consumes itself.

To try thy constancy have I been strange ;

Would I had never tried, but lived in hope !

Alice. What need'st thou try me whom thou ne'er found false ?

Mosbie. Yet pardon me, for love is jealous.

Alice. So lists the sailor to the mermaid's song,

So looks the traveller to the basilisk :

I am content for to be reconciled,

And that, I know, will be mine overthrow.

Mosbie. Thine overthrow ? first let the world dissolve.

Alice. Nay, Mosbie, let me still enjoy thy love,

And happen what will, I am resolute.

My saving husband hoards up bags of gold

To make our children rich, and now is he

Gone to unload the goods that shall be thine,

And he and Franklin will to London straight.

Mosbie. To London, Alice ? if thou 'It be ruled by rne,

We'll make him sure enough for coming there.

Alice. Ah, would we could !

Mosbie. I happened on a painter yesternight,

The only cunning man of Christendom ;

For he can temper poison with his oil,

That whoso looks upon the work he draws

Shall, with the beams that issue from his sight,

Suck venom to his breast and slay himself.

Sweet Alice, he shall draw thy counterfeit,

That Arden may, by gazing on it, perish.

Alice. Ay, but Mosbie, that is dangerous,

For thou, or I, or any other else.

Coming into the chamber where it hangs, may die.

Mosbie. Ay, but we'll have it covered with a cloth

And hung up in the study for himself.

Alice. It may not be, for when the picture's drawn,

Arden, I know, will come and show it me.

Mosbie. Fear not ; we'll have that shall serve the turn.

This is the painter's house ; I'll call him forth.

Alice. But Mosbie, I'll have no such picture, I.

Mosbie. I pray thee leave it to my discretion.

How! Clarke!

Here enters Clarke.

Oh, you are an honest man of your word ! you

served me well.

Clarke. Why, sir, I'll do it for you at any time,

Provided, as you have given your word,

I may have Susan Mosbie to my wife.

For, as sharp-witted poets, whose sweet verse

Make heavenly gods break off their nectar draughts

And lay their ears down to the lowly earth.

Use humble promise to their sacred Muse,

So we that are the poets' favourites

Must have a love : ay, Love is the painter's muse,

That makes him frame a speaking countenance,

A weeping eye that witnesses heart's grief.

Then