Fall.  Then to your horses quicklie, speedily, Else we shall put our fingers in the eye, And weepe for kindnesse till tomorrow morne.

Per.  Farewell good Unckle, Aunt, and loving cooze.

          [Sostratus [sic] kisseth the boy weeping.

Allen.  Farewell.—­I fear me everlastinglie.

    [Exeunt Sostratus and Allenso.

    [One of the Murtherers takes Falleria by the sleeve.

1 mu.  You meane not now to have him murthered?

Fall.  Not murthered, what else? kill him, I say:  But wherefore makes thou question of my will?

Mur.  Because you wisht that God should be revenged, If any ill betide the innocent.

Fall.  Oh that was nothing but to blind the eyes Of my fond sonne, which loves him too too well.

Mer.  It is enough, it shall be surely done.

[Exeunt om.

[SCENE VI.]

Enter Merry and Rachel with a bag.

Mer.  What, hast thou sped? have you bought the bag?

Rach.  I, brother, here it is; what is’t to do?

Mer.  To beare hence Beeches body in the night.

Rach.  You cannot beare so great a waight your selfe, And tis no trusting of another man.

Mer.  Yes well enough, as I will order it. 
Ile cut him peece-meale; first his head and legs
Will be one burthen; then the mangled rest,
Will be another, which I will transport,
Beyond the water in a Ferryboate,
And throw it into Paris-garden ditch,[16]
Fetch me the chopping knife, and in the meane
Ile move the fagots that do cover him.
                             [Remove the Fagots.

Rach.  Oh can you finde in hart to cut and carve, His stone-colde flesh, and rob the greedy grave, Of his dissevered blood-besprinkled lims?

Mer.  I, mary can I:—­fetch the chopping knife.

Rach.  This deed is worse, then when you took his life. [Exit.

Mer.  But worse, or better, now it must be so, Better do thus than feele a greater woe.

    Enter Rach.

Here is the knife, I cannot stay to see
This barbarous deed of inhumanitie. [Exit Rachel.

        [Merry begins to cut the body, and bindes the armes
        behinde his back with Beeches garters; leaves out the
        body, covers the head and legs againe.

    Enter Truth.

Yee glorious beames of that bright-shining lampe
That lights the starre-bespangled firmament,
And dimnes the glimmering shadowes of the night,
Why doost thou lend assistance to this wretch,
To shamble forth with bold audacitie
His lims, that beares thy makers semblance! 
All you the sad spectators of this Acte,
Whose harts do taste a feeling pensivenesse