A YORK-SHIRE TRAGEDY
Page: 10

til you redeem him. What is your answer? how will you bestow
him? upon desperate misery, or better hopes? I suffer, till I
have your answer.

HUSBAND.
Sir, you have much wrought with me. I feel you in my soul,
you are your arts master. I never had sense til now; your
syllables have cleft me. Both for your words and pains I
thank you: I cannot but acknowledge grievous wrongs done to
my brother, mighty, mighty, mighty wrongs.--Within there!

[Enter a servingman.]

HUSBAND.
Sir, Fill me a bowl of wine. Alas, poor brother,
Brus'd with an execution for my sake.

[Exit servant for wine.]

MASTER.
A bruse indeed makes many a moral sore
Till the grave cure em.

[Enter with wine.]

HUSBAND.
Sir, I begin to you, y'ave chide your welcome.

MASTER.
I could have wisht it better for your sake.
I pledge you, sir, to the kind man in prison.

HUSBAND.
Let it be so. Now, Sir, if you so please.

[Drink both.]

To spend but a few minutes in a walk
About my grounds below, my man here shall
Attend you.
I doubt not but by that time to be furnisht
Of a sufficient answer, and therein
My brother fully satisfied.

MASTER.
Good sir, in that the Angells would be pleased,
And the worlds murmurs calmd, and I should say
I set forth then upon a lucky day.

[Exit.]

HUSBAND.
Oh thou confused man! thy pleasant sins have undone thee, thy
damnation has beggerd thee! That heaven should say we must
not sin, and yet made women! gives our senses way to find
pleasure, which being found confounds us. Why should we know
those things so much misuse us?--oh, would vertue had been
forbidden! we should then have proved all vertuous, for tis our
blood to love that were forbidden. Had not drunkenness been
forbidden, what man would have been fool to a beast, and Zany
to a swine, to show tricks in the mire? what is there in three
dice to make a man draw thrice three thousand acres into the
compass of a round little table, and with the gentlemans
palsy in the hand shake out his posterity thieves or beggars?
Tis done! I ha dont, yfaith: terrible, horrible misery.--
How well was I left! very well, very well. My Lands shewed