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— Two rougher ruffians never lived in Kent, —

Have sworn my death, if I infringe my vow,

A dreadfal thing to be considered of.

Methinks I see them with their bolstered hair

Staring and grinning in thy gentle face.

And in their ruthless hands their daggers drawn,

Insulting o'er thee with a peck of oaths.

Whilst thou submissive, pleading for relief,

Art mangled by their ireful instruments.

Methinks I hear them ask where Michael is,

And pitiless Black Will cries : ' Stab the slave !

The peasant will detect the tragedy ! '

The wrinkles in his foul death-threat'ning face

Gapes open wide, like graves to swallow men.

My death to him is but a merriment.

And he will murder me to make him sport.

He comes, he comes ! ah. Master Franklin, help I

Call on the neighbours, or we are but dead !

Here enters Franklin and Arden.

Franklin. What dismal outcry calls me from my rest ?

Arden. What hath occasioned such a fearful cry?

Speak, Michael: hath any injured thee?

Michael. Nothing, sir ; but as I fell asleep,

Upon the threshold leaning to the stairs,

I had a fearful dream that troubled me,

And in my slumber thought I was beset

With murderer thieves that came to rifle me.

My trembling joints witness my inward fear :

I crave your pardons for disturbing you.

Arden. So great a cry for nothing I ne'er heard.

Michael, are the doors fast locked and all things safe?

Michael. I cannot tell ; I think I locked the doors. loo

Arden. I like not this, but I'll go see myself. —

Ne'er trust me but the doors were all unlocked:

This negligence not half contenteth me.

Get you to bed, and if you love my favour,

Let me have no more such pranks as these.

Come, Master Franklin, let us go to bed.

Franklin. Ay, by my faith ; the air is very cold.

Michael, farewell ; I pray thee dream no more.

Exeunt.

SCENE II

Outside Franklin's house.

Here enters Will, Greene, and Shakebag.

Shakebag. Black night hath hid the pleasures of the day,

And sheeting darkness overhangs the earth.

And with the black fold of her cloudy robe

Obscures us from the eyesight of the world,

In which sweet silence such as we triumph.

The lazy minutes linger on their time,

As loth to give due audit to the hour,

Till in the watch our purpose be complete

And Arden sent to everlasting night.

Greene, get you gone, and linger here about, lo

And at some hour hence come to us again.

Where we will give you instance of his death.

Greene. Speed to my wish, whose will so e'er says no ;

And so I'll leave you for an hour or two.

Exit Greene.

Will. I tell thee, Shakebag, would this thing were done :

I am so heavy that I can scarce go ;

This drowsiness in me bodes little good.

Shakebag. How now. Will ? become a precis'.an ?

Nay, then let's go sleep, when bugs and fears

Shall kill our courages with their fancy's work.

Will. Why, Shakebag, thou mistakes me much,

And wrongs me too in telling me of fear.

Were 't not a serious thing we go about.

It should be slipt till I had fought with thee,

To let thee know I am no coward, I.

I tell thee, Shakebag, thou abusest me.

Shakebag. Why, thy speech bewrayed an inly kind of fear,

And savoured of a weak relenting spirit.

Go forward now in that we have begun,

And afterwards attempt me when thou darest.

Will. And if I do not, heaven cut me off!

But let that pass, and show me to this house,

Where thou shalt see I'll do as much as Shakebag.

Shakebag. This is the door; but soft, methinks 'tis shut.

The villain Michael hath deceived us.

Will. Soft, let me see, Shakebag ; 'tis shut indeed.

Knock with thy sword, perhaps the slave will hear.

Shakebag. It will not be ; the white-livered peasant

Is gone to bed, and laughs us both to scorn.

Will. And he shall buy his merriment as dear

As ever coistril bought so little sport :

Ne'er let this sword assist me when I need,

But rust and canker after I have sworn.

If I, the next time that I meet the hind,

Lop not away his leg, his arm, or both.

Shakebag. And let me never draw a sword again.

Nor prosper