A Collection Of Old English Plays, Vol. IV. | Page 7

must passe to Beeches shoppe, who must sit in his shop,
and Winchester his boy stand by: Beech reading_.
What, neighbour Beech, so godly occupied?
Beech. I, maister _Merry_; it were better reade, Then meditate on idle
fantasies.
Mer. You speake the trueth; there is a friend or two Of yours making
merry in my house, And would desire to have your company.
Beech. Know you their names?
Mer. No truely, nor the men. I never stoode to question them of that,
But they desire your presence earnestlie.
Beech. I pray you tell them that I cannot come, Tis supper time, and
many will resort For ware at this time, above all other times; Tis Friday
night besides, and Bartholomew eve, Therefore good neighbour make
my just excuse.
Mer. In trueth they told me that you should not stay, Goe but to drinke,
you may come quick againe,-- But not and if my hand and hammer
hold. [_(To the) people_.
Beech. I am unwilling, but I do not care, And if I go to see the

Company.
Mer. Come quickly then, they think we stay too long.
Beech. Ile cut a peece of cheese to drink withall.
Mer. I, take the farewell of your cutting knife, Here is a hand shall
helpe to cut your throate, And give my selfe a fairing[8] from your
chest.-- What are you ready, will you goe along?
Beech. I, now I am; boy, looke you tend the shoppe; If any aske, come
for me to the Bull. I wonder who they are that aske for me.
Mer. I know not that, you shall see presentlie. Goe up those staires,
your friends do stay above.-- Here is that friend shall shake you by the
head, And make you stagger ere he speake to you.
Then being in the upper Rome Merry strickes him in the head fifteene
times.
Now you are safe, I would the boy were so; But wherefore wish I, for
he shall not live? For if he doe, I shall not live myselfe.
[_Merry wiped [sic] his face from blood_.
Lets see what mony he hath in his purse. Masse heres ten groates, heres
something for my pains. But I must be rewarded better yet.
Enter Rachell and Harry Williams.
Wil. Who was it, Rachell, that went up the staires?
Rach. It was my brother, and a little man Of black complexion, but I
know him not.
Wil. Why do you not then carry up a light, But suffer them to tarry in
the darke?
Rach. I had forgot, but I will beare one up. [Exit up.

Wil. Do so, I prethee; he will chide anon. [Exit.
[Rachell speaketh to her Brother.
Rach. Oh brother, brother, what have you done?
Mer. Why, murtherd one that would have murtherd me.
Rach. We are undone, brother, we are undone. What shall I say, for we
are quite undone?
Mer. Quiet thy selfe, sister; all shalbe well. But see in any case you do
not tell, This deede to Williams nor to any one.
Rach. No, no, I will not; was't not maister _Beech_?
Mer. It was, it is, and I will kill his man, [Exit Rach. Or in attempting
doe the best I can.
Enter Williams and Rachell.
Wil. What was the matter that you cride so lowde?
Rach. I must not tell you, but we are undone.
Wil. You must not tell me, but we are undone! Ile know the cause
wherefore we are undone. [Exit up.
Rach. Oh would the thing were but to doe againe! The thought thereof
doth rent my hart in twaine. [She goes up.
Williams to Merry above.
Wil. Oh maister, maister, what have you done?
Mer. Why slaine a knave that would have murtherd me; Better to kill,
then to be kild my selfe.
Wil. With what? wherewith? how have you slaine the man?

Mer. Why, with this hammer I knockt out his braines.
Wil. Oh it was beastly so to butcher him. If any quarrell were twixt him
and you, You should have bad him meete you in the field, Not like a
coward under your owne roofe To knock him downe as he had bin an
oxe, Or silly sheepe prepard for slaughter house. The Lord is just, and
will revenge his blood, On you and yours for this extremitie. I will not
stay an hower within your house, It is the wickedst deed that ere was
done.
Mer. Oh, sir, content your selfe, all shall be well; Whats done already
cannot be undone.
Rach. Oh would to God, the deed were now to do, And I were privie to
your ill intent, You should not do it then for all the world. But prethie,
Harry, do not leave the house, For then suspition will arise thereof,
And