Denis.  This is the penalty belonges to servyce: 
Masters still plott to theire owne private ends,
And wee that are theire slaves and ministers
Are cheef still in the troble; they ingrosse
The pleasure and the proffitt, and wee only
The swett and payne.  My Lord hath doon a mischeef
And nowe I must not sleepe.—­What art thou? 
None of the howse sure, I should knwe thy face then: 
Beesydes my Lord gives no such lyverye. 
Nowe in the name of heaven, what art thou? speake,
Speake if thou beest a man! or if a ghost
Then glyde hence lyke a shadowe! tis the—­oh!—­
The fryar hathe nimbly skipt back over the wall,
Hath lyke a surly Justyce bensht himself
And sitts heare to accuse uss! where’s my Lord? 
Helpe, Helpe! his murdered ghost is com from Hell
On earth to cry Vindicta![143]

    Enter L. D’Averne.

D’Av.  What clamors this?

Denis.  Oh Syr—­

D’Av.  Why, howe is’t, Denis?

Denis.  Never woorse—­the fryar, Syr—­

D’Av.  What of him?

Denis.  The slave that would not leive the place but carried, Is of himself com back.

D’Av.  Whether?

Denis.  Looke theere.

D’Av.  That which I took to bee meare fantasy
I finde nowe to bee real; murder is
A cryinge sinne, and canot be conceal’d. 
Yet his returne is straunge.

Denis, ’Tis most prodigious; The very thought of it hath put a cricke Into my necke allredy.

D’Av.  One further desperate tryall I will make And putt it too adventer.

Denis.  Pray hows that, Syr?

D’Av.  There’s in my stable an ould stallion, once A lusty horse but now past servyce.

Denis.  Godd [sic], syr.

D’Av.  Him I’l have sadled and capparisond. 
Heare in the hall a rusty Armor hanges,
Pistolls in rotten cases, an ould sword,
And a cast lance to all these sutable. 
I’l have them instantly tooke downe.

Den.  And then?

D’Av.  In these I’l arme the fryar from head to knee;
Mount him into his saddle, with stronge cords
There bind him fast, and to his gauntlet hand
Fasten his lance; for basses[144] tis no matter,
These his grey skyrts will serve.  Thus arm’d, thus mounted,
And thus accoutred, with his beiver upp,
Turne him out of the gates, neither attended
With squire or page, lyke a stronge knight adventures
To seeke a desperate fortune.

Denis.  Hee may so if hee please Ryde post unto the Devill.

D’Av.  This I’l see doone, ’Tis a decree determinde.

Denis.  Capp a pe I’l see him arm’d and mounted.

[Exeunt.

Enter Fryar Richard.