The Tragedy of M.Arden of Feuershame.
(Enter Arden, and Francklin)
Franklin
ARden cheere vp thy spirits and droup no more
My gratious Lord ye Duke of Sommerset:
Hath frely giuen to thee and to thy heyres,
By letters patents from his Maiesty:
All the lands of the Abby of Feuershame.
Heer are the deedes sealed & subscribed wᵗ his name and the kings,
Read them, and leaue this melancholy moode
Arden.
Francklin thy loue prolongs my weary lyfe,
And but for thee, how odious were this lyfe:
That showes me nothing but torments my soule.
And those foule obiects that offend myne eies,
Which makes me wish that for this vale of Heauen,
The earth hung ouer my heede and couerd mee.
Loue letters past twixt Mosbie and my Wyfe,
And they haue preuie meetings in the Towne:
Nay on his finger did I spy the Ring,
Which at our Marriage day the Preest put on,
Can any greefe be halfe so great as this?
Fran.
Comfort thy selfe sweete freend it is not strange,
That women will be false and wauering.
Arden.
I but to doat on such a one as hee
Is monstrous Francklin, and intollerable.
Francklin.
Why, what is he?
Arden.
A Botcher and no better at the first,
Who by base brocage, getting some small stock:
Crept into seruice of a noble man:
And by his seruile flattery and fawning,
Is now become the steward of his house,
And brauely iets it in his silken gowne.
Fran.
No noble man will countnaunce such a pesant,
Arden.
Yes, the Lord Clifford, he that loues not mee,
But through his fauour let not him grow proude,
For were he by the Lord Protector backt,
He should not make me to be pointed at,
I am by birth a gentle man of bloode,
