Rainsworth, Foster, Goodwin. To them enters Frank Forest.
Rain. Now, Frank, how stole you from your father’s arms?
You have been school’d, no doubt. Fie, fie upon’t.
Ere I would live in such base servitude
To an old greybeard; ’sfoot, I’d hang myself.
A man cannot be merry, and drink drunk,
But he must be control’d by gravity.
Frank. O pardon him; you know, he is my father,
And what he doth is but paternal love.
Though I be wild, I’m not yet so past reason
His person to despise, though I his counsel
Cannot severely follow.
Rain. ’Sfoot, he is a fool.
Frank. A fool! you are a a—
Fost. Nay, gentlemen—
Frank. Yet I restrain my tongue.
Hoping you speak out of some spleenful rashness,
And no deliberate malice; and it may be
You are sorry that a word so unreverent,
To wrong so good an aged gentleman,
Should pass you unawares.
Rain. Sorry, Sir Boy! you will not take exceptions?
Frank. Not against you with willingness, whom I
Have loved so long. Yet you might think me a
Most dutiless and ungracious son to give
Smooth countenance unto my father’s wrong.
Come, I dare swear
’Twas not your malice, and I take it so.
Let’s frame some other talk. Hear, gentlemen—
Rain. But hear me, Boy! it seems, Sir, you are angry—
Frank. Not thoroughly yet—
Rain. Then what would anger thee?
Frank. Nothing from you.
Rain. Of all things under heaven
What would’st thou loathest have me do?
Frank. I would
Not have you wrong my reverent father; and
I hope you will not.
Rain. Thy father’s an old dotard.
Frank. I would not brook this at a monarch’s hand,
Much less at thine.
Rain. Aye, Boy? then take you that.
Frank. Oh I am slain.
Good. Sweet Cuz, what have you done? Shift for yourself.
Rain. Away.—
Exeunt.
Enter Two Drawers.
1st Dr. Stay the gentlemen, they have killed a man. O sweet Mr. Francis. One run to his father’s.
2d Dr. Hark, hark, I hear his father’s voice below ’tis ten to one he is come to fetch him home to supper and now he may carry him home to his grave.
Enter the Host, old Forest, and Susan his daughter.
Host. You must take comfort, Sir.
For. Is he dead, is he dead, girl?
Sus. Oh dead, Sir, Frank is dead.
For. Alas, alas, my boy! I have not the heart
To look upon his wide and gaping wounds.
Pray tell me, Sir, does this appear to you
Fearful and pitiful—to you that are
A stranger to my dead boy?
Host. How can it otherwise?
For. O me most wretched of all wretched men!
If to a stranger his warm bleeding wounds
Appear so grisly and so lamentable,
How will they seem to me that am his father?
Will they not hale my eye-brows from their rounds,
And with an everlasting blindness strike them?
Sus. Oh, Sir, look here.
For. Dost long to have me blind?
Then I’ll behold them, since I know thy mind.
Oh me!
Is this my son that doth so senseless lie,
And swims in blood? my soul shall fly with his
Unto the land of rest. Behold I crave,
Being kill’d with grief, we both may have one grave.
Sus. Alas, my father’s dead too! gentle Sir,
Help to retire his spirits, over travail’d
With age and sorrow.
Host. Mr. Forest—
Sus. Father—
For. What says my girl? good morrow. What’s a clock,
That you are up so early? call up Frank;
Tell him he lies too long a bed this morning.
He was wont to call the sun up, and to raise
The early lark, and mount her ’mongst the clouds.
Will he not up? rise, rise, thou sluggish boy.
Sus. Alas, he cannot, father.
For. Cannot, why?
Sus. Do you not see his bloodless colour pale?
For. Perhaps he’s sickly, that he looks so pale.
Sus. Do you not feel his pulse no motion keep,
How still he lies?
For. Then is he fast asleep.
Sus. Do you not see his fatal eyelid close?
For. Speak softly; hinder not his soft repose.
Sus. Oh see you not these purple conduits run?
Know you these wounds?
For. Oh me! my murder’d son!
Enter young Mr. Forest.
Y. For. Sister!
Sus. O brother, brother!
Y. For. Father, how cheer you, Sir? why, you were wont
To store for others comfort, that by sorrow
Were any ways distress’d. Have you all wasted,
And spared none to yourself?
O. For. O Son, Son, Son,
See, alas, see where thy brother lies.
He dined with me to day, was merry, merry,
Aye, that corpse was; he that lies here, see here,
Thy murder’d brother and my son was. Oh see,
Dost thou not weep for him?
Y. For. I shall find time;
When you have took some comfort, I’ll begin
To mourn his death, and scourge the murderer’s sin.
O. For. Oh, when saw father such a tragic sight,
And did outlive it? never, son, ah never,
From mortal breast ran such a precious river.
Y. For. Come, father, and dear sister, join with me;
Let us all learn our sorrows to forget.
He owed a death, and he hath paid that debt.