of Feuershame.
If feare of God, or common speach of men,
Who mangle credit with their wounding words,
And cooch dishonor, as dishonor buds.
Might ioyne repentaunce in her wanton thoughts,
No question then but she would turne the leafe,
And sorrow for her desolution.
But she is rooted in her wickednes
Peruerse and stobburne, not to be reclaimde,
Good counsell is to her as raine to weedes
And reprehension makes her vice to grow,
As Hydraes head that perisht by decay.
Her faults me think are painted in my face.
For euery searching eye to ouer reede.
And Mosbies name, a scandale vnto myne.
Is deeply trenched in my blushing brow.
Ah Francklin Francklin, when I think on this,
My harts greefe rends my other powers,
Worse then the conflict at the houre of death.
Farn.
Gentle Arden leaue this sad lament,
She will amend, and so your greefes will cease
Or els shele die, and so your sorrows end.
If neither of these two do happely fall,
Yet let your comfort be, that others beare
Your woes twice doubled all with patience.
Ard.
My house is irksome, there I cannot rest.
Fra.
Then stay with me in London, go not home.
Ard.
Then that base Mosbie doth vsurpe my roome,
And makes his triumphe of my beeing thence.
At home, or not at home, where ere I be.
Heere heere it lyes, ah Francklin here it lyes,
That wil not out till wretched Arden dies.
Here enters Michaell.
Fra.
Forget your greefes a while, heer coms your man,
Ard.
What a Clock ist sirra?
Mic.
Almost ten.
Ard.
See see how runnes away the weary time,
