Faded though it be, It will not shew less lovely than the tinge Of this faint red, contending with the pale, Where once the full-flush’d health gave to this cheek An apt resemblance to the fruit’s warm side, That bears my Katherine’s name.—­

      Our carriage, Philip.

      Enter a Servant.

      Now, Robin, what make you here?

      SERVANT
      May it please you,
      The coachman has driven out with Mrs. Frampton.

      SELBY
      He had no orders—­

      SERVANT
      None, Sir, that I know of,
      But from the lady, who expects some letter
      At the next Post Town.

      SELBY
      Go, Robin.

      [Exit Servant.]

      How is this?

      KATHERINE
      I came to tell you so, but fear’d your anger—­

      SELBY
      It was ill done though of this Mistress Frampton,
      This forward Widow.  But a ride’s poor loss
      Imports not much.  In to your chamber, love,
      Where you with music may beguile the hour,
      While I am tossing over dusty tomes,
      Till our most reasonable friend returns.

      KATHERINE
      I am all obedience. [Exit Katherine]

      SELBY
      Too obedient, Kate,
      And to too many masters.  I can hardly
      On such a day as this refrain to speak
      My sense of this injurious friend, this pest,
      This household evil, this close-clinging fiend,
      In rough terms to my wife.  ’Death! my own servants
      Controll’d above me! orders countermanded!’
      What next? [Servant enters and announces the Sister]

      Enter Lucy.

      Sister!  I know you are come to welcome
      This day’s return.  ’Twas well done.

      LUCY
      You seem ruffled. 
      In years gone by this day was used to be
      The smoothest of the year.  Your honey turn’d
      So soon to gall?

      SELBY
      Gall’d am I, and with cause,
      And rid to death, yet cannot get a riddance,
      Nay, scarce a ride, by this proud Widow’s leave.

      LUCY
      Something you wrote me of a Mistress Frampton.

      SELBY
      She came at first a meek admitted guest,
      Pretending a short stay; her whole deportment
      Seem’d as of one obliged.  A slender trunk,
      The wardrobe of her scant and ancient clothing,
      Bespoke no more.  But in a few days her dress,
      Her looks, were proudly changed.  And now she flaunts it
      In jewels stolen or borrow’d from my wife;
      Who owes her some strange service, of what nature
      I must be kept in ignorance.  Katherine’s meek
      And gentle spirit cowers beneath her eye,
      As spell-bound by some witch.