A YORK-SHIRE TRAGEDY
Page: 9

Had offered violence unto my breast.
That which some women call great misery
Would show but little here: would scarce be seen
Amongst my miseries. I may Compare
For wretched fortunes with all wives that are.
Nothing will please him, until all be nothing.
He calls it slavery to be preferd,
A place of credit a base servitude.
What shall become of me, and my poor children,
Two here, and one at nurse, my pretty beggers?
I see how ruin with a palsy hand
Begins to shake the auncient seat to dust:
The heavy weight of sorrow draws my lids
Over my dankish eyes: I can scarce see:
Thus grief will last; it wakes and sleeps with me.

[Exit.]


SCENE IV. Another apartment in the same.

[Enter the Husband with the master of the College.]


HUSBAND.
Please you draw near, sir, y'are exceeding welcome.

MASTER.
Thats my doubt; I fear, I come not to be welcome.

HUSBAND.
Yes, howsoever.

MASTER.
Tis not my fashion, Sir, to dwell in long circumstance, but
to be plain, and effectual; therefore, to the purpose. The
cause of my setting forth was piteous and lamentable: that
hopeful young gentleman, your brother, whose vertues we all
love dearly, through your default and unnatural negligence,
lies in bond executed for your debt, a prisoner, all his
studies amazed, his hope struck dead, and the pride of his
youth muffled in these dark clouds of oppression.

HUSBAND.
Hum, um, um.

MASTER.
Oh, you have kild the towardest hope of all our university:
Wherefore, without repentance and ameds, expect pondrous and
sudden Judgements to fall grievously upon you. Your brother,
a man who profited in his divine Imployments, might have made
ten thousand souls fit for heaven, now by your careless courses
cast in prison, which you must answer for, and assure your
spirit it will come home at length.

HUSBAND.
Oh god! oh!

MASTER.
Wise men think ill of you, others speak ill of you, no man
loves you, nay, even those whom honesty condemns, condemn
you: and take this from the vertuous affection I bear your
brother; never look for prosperous hour, good thought, quiet
sleeps, contented walks, nor any thing that makes man perfect