A Collection Of Old English Plays, Vol. IV. | Page 9

I tell you
plaine, I would not have him dye, Might I enjoy the Soldans Emperie.
Fall. What, wilt thou barre thy selfe of happinesse? Stop the large
streame of pleasures which would flowe, And still attend on thee like
Servingmen? Preferre the life of him that loves thee not Before thine
owne and my felicitie?
Allen. Ide rather choose to feede on carefulnesse, To ditche, to delve,
and labour for my bread, Nay rather choose to begge from doore to
doore, Then condiscend to offer violence To young Pertillo in his
innocence. I know you speake, to sound what mightie share Pertillo
hath in my affection.
Fall. In faith I do not; therefore, prethie, say, Wilt thou consent to have
him made away?
Allen. Why, then in faithe I am ashamde to think, I had my being from
so foule a lumpe Of adulation and unthankfulnesse. Ah, had their dying
praiers no availe Within your hart? no, damnd extorcion Hath left no
roome for grace to harbor in! Audacious sinne, how canst thou make
him say Consent to make my brothers sonne away?
Fall. Nay if you ginne to brawle, withdrawe your selfe, But utter not
the motion[10] that I made, As you love me, or do regarde your life.
Allen. And as you love my safetie and your soule, Let grace and feare
of God, such thoughts controule.
Fall. Still pratling! let your grace and feare alone, And leave me
quickly to my private thoughts, Or with my sword ile open wide a gate,
For wrath and bloudie death to enter in.
Allen. Better you gave me death and buriall, Then such foule deeds
should overthrow us all.
Fall. Still are you wagging that rebellious tounge! Ile dig it out for

Crowes to feede upon, If thou continue longer in my sight. [Exit
Allenso. He loves him better then he loves his life! Heres repetition of
my brothers care, Of sisters chardge, of grace, and feare of God. Feare
dastards, cowards, faint hart runawayes! Ile feare no coulours[11] to
obteine my will, Though all the fiends in hell were opposite. Ide rather
loose mine eye, my hand, my foote, Be blinde, wante senses, and be
ever lame, Then be tormented with such discontent This resignation
would afflict me with. Be blithe, my boy, thy life shall sure be done,
Before the setting of the morrowe sunne. [Exit.
Enter Avarice and Homicide bloody.
Hom. Make hast, runne headlong to destruction! I like thy temper that
canst change a heart From yeelding flesh to Flinte and Adamant. Thou
hitst it home, where thou doost fasten holde; Nothing can separate the
love of golde.
Ava. Feare no relenting, I dare pawne my soule, (And thats no gadge, it
is the divels due) He shall imbrew his greedie griping hands In the dead
bosome of the bloodie boy, And winde himselfe, his sonne, and
harmlesse wife, In endlesse foldes of sure destruction. Now, Homicide,
thy lookes are like thyselfe, For blood and death are thy companions.
Let my confounding plots but goe before, And thou shalt wade up to
the chin in gore.
Homi. I finde it true, for where thou art let in, There is no scruple made
of any sinne; The world may see thou art the roote of ill, For but for
thee poore Beech had lived still.
[Exeunt.

[ACT THE SECOND.]
[SCENE I.]
Enter Rachell and Merry.
Rach. Oh my deare brother, what a heap of woe, Your rashnesse hath
powrd downe upon your head! Where shall we hide this trumpet of

your shame, This timelesse ougly map of crueltie? Brother, if Williams
do reveale the truth, Then brother, then, begins our sceane of ruthe.
Mer. I feare not Williams, but I feare the boy, Who knew I fetcht his
maister to my house.
Rach. What, doth the boy know whereabouts you dwell?
Mer. I, that tormentes me worse than panges of hell:-- He must be
slaine to, else hele utter all.
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