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_? wh