To. Sweet Master Wildbraine.
Wi. No more Toby, go the times may alter—
But where's the coarse of my dead cosen,
(If she be dead) I hop'd 'thad but dissembled
That sits heavy here: Toby, honest Toby,
Lend me thy Lanthorn, I forgot 'twas dark,
I had need look to my ways now.
To. Take a lodging with me to night in the Stable,
And ride away to morrow with one of the horses,
Next your heart, pray do.
Wi. No, good night good neighbor Toby, I will wander,
I scorn to submit my self, ere I have rambled,
But whither, or with what, that's more material;
No matter, and the worst come, it is but stealing,
And my Aunt wo'not see me hang'd for her own credit,
And farewel in a Halter costs me nothing. [Exit.
Enter Hartlove.
Fran. The night, and all the evil the night covers,
The Goblins, Haggs, and the black spawn of darkness,
Cannot fright me: no death, I dare thy cruelty.
For I am weary both of life and light too;
Keep my wits heaven, they say spirits appear
To melancholy minds, and the graves open,
I would fain see the fair Maria's shadow,
But speak unto her spirit e'er I dyed,
But ask upon my knees a mercy from her;
I was a villain, but her wretched kinsman,
That set his plot, shall with his heart-blood satisfie
Her injur'd life and honor, what light's this?
Enter Wildbrain with a Lanthorn.
Wild. It is but melancholy walking thus;
The Tavern doors are baracado'd too,
Where I might drink till morn in expectation;
I cannot meet the Watch neither; nothing in
The likeness of a Constable, whom I might,
In my distress, abuse, and so be carried,
For want of other lodging, to the Counter.
Fra. 'Tis his voice, Fate, I thank thee.
Wild. Ha, who's that, and thou be'st a man speak?
Frank Hartlove, then I bear my destinies,
Thou art the man of all the world I wish'd for;
My Aunt has turn'd me out a doors, she has,
At this unchristian hour, and I do walk,
Methinks like Guido Faux with my dark Lanthorn,
Stealing to set the Town a fire; i'th' Countrey
I should be tane for William o' the Wispe,
Or: Robin Good-fellow, and how dost Frank?