Enter Murther and Covetousnesse.

Mur.  Now, Avarice, I have well satisfied
My hungrie thoughtes with blood and crueltie;
Now all my melanchollie discontent
Is shaken off, and I am throughlie pleas’d,
With what thy pollicie hath brought to passe. 
Yet am I not so throughlie satisfied
Untill I bring the purple actors forth. 
And cause them quaffe a bowle of bitternesse,
That father sonne, and sister brother may
Bring to their deathes with most assur’d decay.

Ava.  That wilbe done without all question,
For thou hast slaine Allenso with the boy,
And Rachell doth not wish to overlive
The sad remembrance of her brothers sinne. 
Leave faithfull love to teach them how to dye,
That they may share their kinsfolkes miserie.

[Exeunt.

[ACT THE FOURTH.]

[SCENE I.]

Enter Merrie and Rachell uncovering the head and legges.

Mer.  I have bestow’d a watrie funerall On the halfe bodie of my butchered friend.  The head and legges Ile leave in some darke place; I care not if they finde them yea or no.

Ra.  Where do you meane to leave the head and legs?

Mer.  In some darke place nere to Bainardes Castle.[31]

Ra.  But doe it closelie that you be not seene; For all this while you are without suspect.

Mer.  Take you no thought, Ile have a care of that;
Onelie take heede you have a speciall care
To make no shew of any discontent
Nor use too many words to any one.
            [Puts on his Cloake; taketh up the bag. 
I will returne when I have left my loade. 
Be merrie, Rachell; halfe the feare is past. [Exit.

Ra.  But I shall never thinke my selfe secure. 
This deede would trouble any quiet soule,
To thinke thereof, much more to see it done;
Such cruell deedes can never long be hid,
Although we practice nere so cunningly. 
Let others open what I doe conceale;
Lo he is my brother, I will cover it,
And rather dye than have it spoken rife,—­
Lo where she goes, betrai’d her brothers life.

[Exit.

[SCENE II.]

Enter Williams and Cowley.

Co.  Why, how now, Harry, what should be the cause,
That you are growne so discontent of late? 
Your sighes do shew some inward heavinesse;
Your heavy lookes, your eyes brimfull of teares,
Beares testimonie of some secret griefe. 
Reveale it, Harry; I will be thy friend,
And helpe thee to my poore habillity.

Wil.  If I am heavie, if I often sigh,
And if my eyes beare recordes of my woe,
Condemne me not, for I have mightie cause,
More then I will impart to any one.

Co.  Do you misdoubt me, that you dare not tell That woe to me that moves your discontent?