Now, sir, Dalilah my daughter is dead of the pox,
And my son hang'th[244] in chains, and waveth his locks.
These news will I tell her, and the matter so frame,
That she shall be thine own, master Worldly Shame!
Ha, ha, ha!—
XANTIPPE. Peace, peace, she cometh hereby,
I spoke no word of her, no, not I.
WORLDLY SHAME. O Mistress Xantippe, I can tell you news:[245]
The fair wench, your dear daughter Dalilah,
Is dead of the pox taken at the stews;
And thy son Ismael, that pretty boy,
Whom I dare say you loved very well,
Is hanged in chains, every[246] man can tell.
Every man saith thy daughter was a strong whore,
And thy son a strong thief and a murderer.
It must needs grieve you wonderous,
That they died so shamefully both two:
Men will taunt you and mock you, for they say now
The cause of their death was even very you.
XANTIPPE. I the cause of their death?
[She would sowne.[247]
WORLDLY SHAME. Will ye sowne, the devil stop thy breath?
Thou shalt die (I trow) with more shame;
I will get me hence out of the way,
If the whore should die, men would me blame;
That I killed her, knaves should say.
[Exit.
XANTIPPE. Alas, alas, and well-away!
I may curse the time that I was born,
Never woman had such fortune, I dare say;
Alas, two of my children be forlorn.
My fair daughter Dalilah is dead of the pox:
My dear son Ismael hanged up in chains.
Alas, the wind waveth his yellow locks,[248]
It slayeth my heart, and breaketh my brains.
Why should God punish and plague me so sore?
To see my children die so shamefully!
I will never eat bread in this world more,
With this knife will I slay myself by and by.
[She would stick herself with a knife.
Enter BARNABAS.
BARNABAS. Beware what ye do; fye, mother, fye!
Will ye spill yourself for your own offence,
And seem for ever to exclude God's mercy?
God doth punish you for your negligence:
Wherefore take his correction with patience,
And thank him heartily, that of his goodness
He bringeth you in knowledge of your trespass.