Volume Ix Part 100 (2/2)

THOM. Pray you, make haste, the meat stays for us, and our stomach's ready for the meat; for believe this-- Drink makes men hungry, or it makes them lie,[369]

And he that's drunk o'er night, i'th'morning's dry: Seen and approved. [_Exit_.

CLARE. He was contracted mine, yet he unjust Hath married to another: what's my estate, then?

A wretched maid, not fit for any man; For being united his with plighted faiths, Whoever sues to me commits a sin, Besiegeth me; and who shall marry me, Is like myself, lives in adultery. O G.o.d, That such hard fortune should betide my youth!

I am young, fair, rich, honest, virtuous, Yet for all this, whoe'er shall marry me, I'm but his wh.o.r.e, live in adultery.

I cannot step into the path of pleasure For which I was created, born unto: Let me live ne'er so honest, rich or poor, If I once wed, yet I must live a wh.o.r.e.

I must be made a strumpet 'gainst my will, A name I have abhorr'd; a shameful ill I have eschewed; and now cannot withstand it In myself. I am my father's only child: In me he hath a hope, though not his name Can be increas'd, yet by my issue His land shall be possess'd, his age delighted.

And though that I should vow a single life To keep my soul unspotted, yet will he Enforce me to a marriage: So that my grief doth of that weight consist, It helps me not to yield nor to resist; And was I then created for a wh.o.r.e? a wh.o.r.e!

Bad name, bad act, bad man, makes me a scorn: Than live a strumpet, better be unborn.[370]

_Enter_ JOHN SCARBOROW.

JOHN. Sister, pray you, will you come? Your father and the whole meeting stays for you.

CLARE. I come, I come; I pray, return; I come.

JOHN. I must not go without you.

CLARE. Be thou my usher, sooth, I'll follow you. [_Exit_.

He writes here to _forgive him, he is married_: False gentleman, I do forgive thee with my heart; Yet will I send an answer to thy letter, And in so short words thou shalt weep to read them, And here's my agent ready: _Forgive me, I am dead_.

'Tis writ, and I will act it. Be judge, you maids Have trusted the false promises of men: Be judge, you wives, the which have been enforc'd From the white sheets you lov'd to them ye loathed: Whether this axiom may not be a.s.sured,-- _Better one sin than many be endured_: My arms embracing, kisses, chast.i.ty, Were his possessions; and whilst I live, He doth but steal those pleasures he enjoys, Is an adulterer in his married arms, And never goes to his defiled bed, But G.o.d writes sin upon the tester's head.

I'll be a wife now, help to save his soul Though I have lost his body: give a slake To his iniquities, and with one sin, Done by this hand, and many done by him.

Farewell the world then, farewell the wedded joys Till this I have hop'd for from that gentleman!

Scarborow, forgive me; thus thou hast lost thy wife, Yet record, world,[371] though by an act too foul, A wife thus died to cleanse her husband's soul.

[_Enter_ SIR JOHN HARCOP.]

HAR. G.o.d's precious for his mercy, where's this wench?

Must all my friends and guests attend on you?

Where are you, minion?

CLARE. Scarborow, come, close mine eyes; for I am dead.

HAR. That sad voice was not hers, I hope: Who's this?

My daughter?

CLARE. Your daughter, That begs of you to see her buried, Prays Scarborow to forgive her: she is dead. [_Dies_.

HAR. Patience, good tears, and let my words have way!

Clare, my daughter! help, my servants, there!

Lift up thine eyes, and look upon thy father, They were not born to lose their light so soon: I did beget thee for my comforter, And not to be the author of my care.

Why speakest thou not? some help, my servants, there!

What hand hath made thee pale? or if thine own, What cause hadst thou, that wert thy father's joy, The treasure of his age, the cradle of his sleep, His all in all? I prythee, speak to me: Thou art not ripe for death; come back again.

Clare, my Clare, if death must needs have one, I am the fittest: prythee, let me go.

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