Rach.  Harke, brother, harke, me thinkes I here on[12] call.

Mer.  Go downe and see; pray God my man keep close;
If he prove long-tongd then my daies are done. 
The boy must die, there is no helpe at all;
For on his life my verie life dependes. 
Besides I cannot compasse what I would,
Unlesse the boy be quicklie made away. 
This that abridgde his haplesse maisters daies,
Shall leave such sound memorials one [sic] his head,
That he shall quite forget who did him harme,
Or train’d his master to this bloodie feast.—­
Why, how now, Rachell? who did call below?

    Enter Rachell.

Rach.  A maide that came to have a pennie loafe.

Mer.  I would a pennie loafe cost me a pound, Provided Beeches boy had eate his last.

Rach.  Perchance the boy doth not remember you.

Mer.  It may be so,—­but ile remember him. [To people.  And send him quicklie with a bloodie scrowle, To greete his maister in another world.

Rach.  Ile go to Beeches on a faind excuse, To see if he will ask me for his maister.

Mer.  No, get you up, you shall not stir abroade, And when I call, come quicklie to the dore.

Rach.  Brother, or that, or any thing beside, To please your mind, or ease your miserie. [Exit.

Mer.  I am knee-deepe, ile wade up to the wast,
To end my hart of feare, and to atteine
The hoped end of my intention. 
But I maie see, if I have eyes to see,
And if my understanding be not blind,
How manie dangers do alreadie waight,
Upon my steppes of bold securitie.
Williams is fled, perchaunce to utter all;
Thats but perchance, naie rather flatlie no. 
But should he tell, I can but die a death;
Should he conceale, the boy would utter it;
The boy must die, there is no remedie.

       [The boy sitting at his maisters dore.

Win.  I wonder that my maister staies so long; He had not wont to be abroade so late.  Yonder comes one; I thinke that same is he.

Mer.  I see the boye sits at his maisters doore.  Or now, or never; Merry, stir thy selfe, And rid thy hart from feare and jealousie.—­ Thomas Winchester, go quicklie to your shoppe:  What, sit you still? your maister is at hand.

    [When the boy goeth into the shoppe Merrie striketh six blowes
    on his head & with the seaventh leaves the hammer sticking in his
    head; the boy groaning must be heard by a maide who must crye to
    her Maister.
                                        [Merrie flieth.

Mai.  Oh God I thinke theres theeves in Beeches shop.

    Enter one in his shirt and a maide, and comming to Beeches shop
    findes the boy murthered.