[Enter FRANKFORD and NICHOLAS]

Frank. Soft, soft! We've tied our geldings to a tree,

Two flight-shot off, lest by their thundering hoofs

They blab our coming back. Hear'st thou no noise?

Nich. Hear? I hear nothing but the owl and you.

Frank. So; now my watch's hand points upon twelve,
And it is dead midnight. Where are my keys?

Nich. Here, sir.

Frank. This is the key that opes my outward gate;

This, the hall-door; this, the withdrawing- chamber;

But this, that door that's bawd unto my shame,

Fountain and spring of all my bleeding thoughts,

Where the most hallowed order and true knot

Of nuptial sanctity hath been profan'd.

It leads to my polluted bed-chamber,

Once my terrestrial heaven, now my earth's