Franklin. Is he himself already in his bed?
[Exit Franklin. Manet Michael.
Michael. He is, and fain would have the light away.
—Conflicting thoughts, encampèd in my breast,
Awake me with the echo of their strokes, 60
And I, a judge to censure either side,
Can give to neither wishèd victory.
My master’s kindness pleads to me for life
With just demand, and I must grant it him:
My mistress she hath forced me with an oath,
For Susan’s sake, the which I may not break,
For that is nearer than a master’s love:
That grim-faced fellow, pitiless Black Will,
And Shakebag, stern in bloody stratagem,
—Two rougher ruffians never lived in Kent,— 70
Have sworn my death, if I infringe my vow,
A dreadful thing to be considered of.
Methinks I see them with their bolstered hair
Staring and grinning in thy gentle face,
And in their ruthless hands their daggers drawn,
Insulting o’er thee with a peck of oaths,
Whilst thou submissive, pleading for relief,
Art mangled by their ireful instruments.
Methinks I hear them ask where Michael is,
And pitiless Black Will cries: ‘Stab the slave! 80
The peasant will detect the tragedy!’
The wrinkles in his foul death-threat’ning face
Gapes open wide, like graves to swallow men.
My death to him is but a merriment,
And he will murder me to make him sport.
He comes, he comes! ah. Master Franklin, help!
Call on the neighbours, or we are but dead!
Here enters Franklin and Arden.
Franklin. What dismal outcry calls me from my rest?
Arden. What hath occasioned such a fearful cry?
Speak, Michael: hath any injured thee? 90
Michael. Nothing, sir; but as I fell asleep,
Upon the threshold leaning to the stairs,
I had a fearful dream that troubled me,
And in my slumber thought I was beset
With murderer thieves that came to rifle me.
My trembling joints witness my inward fear:
I crave your pardons for disturbing you.
Arden. So great a cry for nothing I ne’er heard.
What? are the doors fast locked and all things safe?
Michael. I cannot tell; I think I locked the doors. 100
Arden. I like not this, but I’ll go see myself.—
Ne’er trust me but the doors were all unlocked:
This negligence not half contenteth me.
Get you to bed, and if you love my favour,
Let me have no more such pranks as these.
Come, Master Franklin, let us go to bed.