A Collection Of Old English Plays, Vol. IV. | Page 3

glut my blood-delighted eye With mangled bodies which do gaspe and grone, Readie to passe to faire Elizium, Nor bath my greedie handes in reeking blood Of fathers by their children murthered: When all men else do weepe, lament and waile, The sad exploites of fearefull tragedies, It glads me so, that it delightes my heart, To ad new tormentes to their bleeding smartes.
Enter Avarice.
But here comes Avarice, as if he sought, Some busie worke for his pernicious thought: Whether so fast, all-griping _Avarice_?
Ava. Why, what carst thou? I seeke for one I misse.
Ho. I may supplie the man you wish to have.
Ava. Thou seemes to be a bold audatious knave; I doe not like intruding companie, That seeke to undermine my secrecie.
Ho. Mistrust me not; I am thy faithfull friend.
Ava. Many say so, that prove false in the end.
Ho. But turne about and thou wilt know my face.
Ava. It may be so, and know thy want of grace. What! _Homicide_? thou art the man I seeke: I reconcile me thus upon thy cheeke. [_Kisse, imbrace_. Hadst thou nam'd blood and damn'd iniquitie, I had forborne to bight so bitterlie.
Hom. Knowst thou a hart wide open to receive, A plot of horred desolation? Tell me of this, thou art my cheefest good, And I will quaffe thy health in bowles of blood.
Ava. I know two men, that seem two innocents, Whose lookes, surveied with iuditiall eyes, Would seeme to beare the markes of honestie; But snakes finde harbour mongst the fairest flowers, Then never credit outward semblaunces.
_Enter[4] Trueth_.
I know their harts relentlesse, mercilesse, And will performe through hope of benefit: More dreadfull things then can be thought upon.
Hom. If gaine will draw, I prethy then allure Their hungrie harts with hope of recompence, But tye dispaire unto those mooving hopes, Unleast a deed of murther farther it, Then blood on blood, shall overtake them all, And we will make a bloodie feastivall.
Cove. The plots are laide, the keyes of golden coine, Hath op'd the secret closets of their harts. Inter [_sic_], insult, make captive at thy will, Themselves, and friends, with deedes of damned ill: Yonder is Truth, she commeth to bewaile, The times and parties that we worke upon.
Hom. Why, let her weepe, lament and morne for me, We are right bred of damn'd iniquitie, And will go make a two-folde Tragedie. [Exeunt.
Truth. Goe you disturbers of a quiet soule, Sad, greedy, gaping, hungrie Canibals, That ioy to practise others miseries. Gentles, prepare your teare-bedecked eyes, To see two shewes of lamentation, Besprinckled every where with guiltlesse blood, Of harmlesse youth, and pretie innocents. Our Stage doth weare habilliments of woe, Truth rues to tell the truth of these laments: The one was done in famous London late, Within that streete whose side the River Thames Doth strive to wash from all impuritie: But yet that silver stream can never wash, The sad remembrance of that cursed deede, Perform'd by cruell Merry on iust Beech, And his true boye poore Thomas Winchester. The most here present, know this to be true: Would Truth were false, so this were but a tale! The other further off, but yet too neere, To those that felt and did the crueltie: Neere Padua this wicked deed was done, By a false Uncle, on his brothers sonne, Left to his carefull education By dying Parents, with as strict a charge As ever yet death-breathing brother gave. Looke for no mirth, unlesse you take delight, In mangled bodies, and in gaping wounds, Bloodily made by mercy-wanting hands. Truth will not faine, but yet doth grieve to showe, This deed of ruthe and miserable woe.
[Exit.

[ACT THE FIRST.]
[SCENE I.]
Enter Merry.
I live in meane and discontented state, But wherefore should I think of discontent? I am belov'd, I have a pretty house, A loving sister, and a carefull man, That doe not thinke their dayes worke well at end, Except it bring me in some benefit: And well frequented is my little house With many guestes and honest passengers,
Enter Beech and a friend.
Which may in time advance my humble state To greater wealth and reputation. And here comes friends to drinke some beare or ale; [Sit in his Shop. They are my neighbours, they shall have the best.
Ne. Come neighbour Beech, lets have our mornings draught And wele go drinke it at yong Merries house: They say he hath the best in all this towne, Besides they say he is an honest man, And keepes good rule and orders in his house.
Beech. He's so indeede; his conversation Is full of honest harmlesse curtesie: I dare presume, if that he be within, Hele serve us well, and keepe us company. See where he is, go in, ile follow you; [Strive curtesies. Nay straine no curtesie, you shall goe before.
Mer.