A Yorkshire Tragedy

by Anonymous

A

YORKSHIRE

TRAGEDIE.

 

Not so New, as Lamentable
and True.

 

Written by W. Shakespeare.

 

 

Printed for T. P. 1619.

ALL'S ONE,

OR,

One of the foure Plaies in one, called a
Yorkshire Tragedy. As it was plaid by
the Kings Maiesties Players.

 

Enter Oliuer and Raphe, two seruingmen.

Liuer. Sirrah Raphe, my young Mistris is in such a pittifull passionate humour for the long absence of her loue.

 Raphe. Why can you blame her, why, Apples hanging longer on the tree thē when they are ripe, makes so many fallings, viz. Mad wenches because they are not gathered in time, are faine to drop of themselues, and then tis common you know for euery man to take them vp.

 Oliuer. Masse thou saist true, tis common indeede, but sirrah, is neyther our young Master returned, nor our fellow Sam come from London?

 Raphe. Neyther of eyther, as the Puritan Bawde sayes. Slid I heare Sam, Sam's come, heere tarry; come ifaith, now my nose itches for newes.

 Oliver. And so doth mine elbow.

 Sam cals within. Where are you there?

 Sam. Boy, looke you walke my horse with discretion , I haue rid him simply, I warrant his skin stickes to his backe with very heate, if he should catch cold and get the cough of the lungs, I were well serued, were I not? What Raphe and Oliuer.

 Am. Honest fellow Sam, welcome ifaith, what tricks hast thou brought from London?

Furnisht with things from London.

 Sam. You see I am hangd after the truest fashion, three hats, and two glasses bobbing vpon them, two rebato wyers vpon my brest, a capcase by my side, a brush at my backe, an Almanacke in my pocket, and three ballats in my codpice, nay I am the true picture of a common seruingman.

 Oliuer. He sweare thou art, thou maist set vp when thou wilt, there's many a one begins with lesse I can tell thee, that proues a rich man ere he dies, but whats the newes from London, Sam?

 Raphe. I that's well fed, what is the newes from London, Sirrah. My young Mistresse keepes such a puling for her Loue.

 Sam. Why the more foole she, I, the more ninny-hammer she.

 Oliuer. Why Sam, why?

 Sam. Why he is married to another long agoe.

 Amb. Faith ye ieast.

 Sam. Why did you not know that till now? Why hee's married, beates his wife, and has two or three children by her: for you must note, that any woman beares the more when she is beaten.

 Raphe, I that's true, for she beares the blowes.

 Oliuer. Sirrah Sam, I would not for two yeares wages my young Mistresse knew so much, shee'd run vpon the left hand of her wit, and nere be her owne woman againe.

 Sam. And I thinke she was blest in her Cradle, that he neuer came in her bed, why hee has consumed all, pawnd his lands, and made his Vniuersity Brother stand in waxe for him; There's a fine phrase for a scriuener, puh, he owes more then his skin is worth.

 Oliuer. Is't posible?

 Sam. Nay, ile tell you moreouer, hee cals his Wife whore, as familiarly as one would call Moll and Doll, and his children bastards, as naturally as can be, but what haue we heere? I thought twas something puld downe my Breeches: I quite forgot my two potingstickes, these came from London, now any thing is good heere that comes from London.

 Oliuer. I, farre fetcht you know.

 Sam. But speake in your conscience ifaith, haue not we as good potingsticks i'th Country as need to be put i'th fire, the minde of a thing is all, and as thou saidst euen now, farre fetcht is the best things for Ladyes.

 Oliuer. I, and for waiting gentlewomen to.

 Sam. But Raphe, is our Beere sowre this thunder?

 Raphe. No, no, it holds countenance yet.

 Sam. Why then follow me, Ile teach you the finest humor to be drunk in, I learnd it at London last weeke.

 Amb. Faith lets heare it, lets heare it.

 Sam. The brauest humor, twould do a man good to be drunke in it, they cal it knighting in London, when they drinke vpon their knees.

 Amb. Faith that's excellent.Come follow me, Ile giue you all the degrees of it in order.Exeunt. 

Enter Wife.

 Wife. What will become of vs? all will away,My husband neuer ceasses in expence,Both to consume his credite and his house.And tis set downe by heauens iust decree,That Ryots childe must needs be beggery.Are these the vertues that his youth did promise?Dice and voluptuous meetings, midnight Reuels,Taking his bed with surfets. Ill beseemingThe ancient honour of his house and name:And this not all, but that which kils me most,When he recounts his losses and false fortunes,The weaknesse of his state so much deiected,Not as a man repentant, but halfe mad,His fortunes cannot answere his expence:He sits and sullenly lockes vp his armes,Forgetting heauen, looks downward, which makesHim appeare so dreadfull, that he frights my heart:Walkes heauily, as if his soule were earth;Not penitent for those his sins are past,But vext, his money cannot make them last:A fearefull melancholy, vngodly sorrow.Oh yonder he comes,now in despight of ilsIle speake to him, and I will heare him speake,And do my best to driue it from his heart.

Enter Husband.

 Hus. Pox of the Last throw, it madeFiue hundred Angels vanish from my sight,Ime damnd, Ime damnd: the Angels haue forsook meNay tis certainly true: for he that has no coyne,Is damnd in this world: hee's gone, hee's gone.

 Wife. Deere husband.

 Hus. Oh! most punishment of all, I haue a wife.

 Wife. I do intreate you as you loue your soule,Tell me the cause of this your discontent.

 Hus. A vengeance strip thee naked, thou art cause,Exit.Effect, quality, property, thou, thou, thou.

 Wife. Bad, turnd to worse?Both beggery of the soule, as of the body.And so much vnlike himselfe at first,As if some vexed spirit had got his forme vpon him.Enter Husband againe.He comes againe,He saies I am the cause, I neuer yetSpoke lesse then words of duty and of loue.

 Hus. If marriage bee honourable, then Cuckolds are honourable, for they cannot be made without marriage.  Foole, what meant I to marry to get beggars? Now must my eldest sonne be a knaue or nothing, he cannot liue vpot'h foole, for he will haue no land to maintaine him: that morgage sits like a snaffle vpon mine inheritance, and makes me chaw vpon Iron.  My second son must be a promoter, and my third a theefe, or an vnder-putter, a slaue Pander. Oh beggery, beggery, to what base vses dost thou put a man.I think the diuell scornes to be a Bawd.He beares himselfe more proudly, has more care on his credite.Base, slauish, abiect, filthy pouerty.

 Wi, Good sir, by all our vowes I doe beseech you,Shew me the true cause of your discontent?

 Hus. Mony, mony, mony, & thou must supply mee.

 Wi. Alasse, I am the least cause of your discontent,Yet what is mine, either in rings or iewels,Vse to your owne desire, but I beseech you,As you are a gentleman by many bloods,Though I my selfe be out of your respect,Thinke on the state of these three louely boyesYou haue bin father to.

 Hu. Puh, Bastards, Bastards, Bastards, begot in tricks, begot in tricks.

 Wi. Heauen knowes how those words wrong me,But Ile endure these griefes among a thousand moreOh call to minde your Lands already morgadge,Your selfe woond into debts, your hopefull brother,At the Vniuersity in bonds for youLike to be ceaz'd vpon. And ———

 Hu. Ha done thou harlot,Whom though for fashion I married,I neuer could abide. Thinkst thou thy wordsShall kill my pleasures, fall of to thy friends,Thou and thy bastards beg, I will not bateA whit in humor; Midnight still I loue you, And reuell in your company; Curbd in,Shall it be said in all societies,That I broke custome, that I flagd in money.No, those thy iewels, I will play as freely,As when my state was fullest.

 Wi. Be it so.

 Hus. Nay I protest, and take that for an earnest,He spurns her.I will for euer hold thee in contempt,And neuer touch the sheetes that couer thee,But be diuorst in bed, till thou consent,Thy dowry shall be solde to giue new lifeVnto those pleasures which I most affect

 Wi. Sir, doe but turne a gentle eye on me,And what the law shall giue me leaue to do,You shall command.

 Hu. Looke it be done, shall I want dus,And like a slaue weare nothing in my pocketsHols his hands in his Pockets.But my hands to fill them vp with nayles?Oh much against my blood, let it be done,I was neuer made to be a looker on:A baud to dice; Ile shake the drabs my selfe,And make em yeeld, I say looke it be done.

Exit. Wi. I take my leaue it shal.

 Hu. Speedily, speedily, I hate the very houre I chose a Wife, a trouble, trouble, three children like three euils hang vpon me, fie, fie, fie, strumpet and bastards, strum­pet and bastards.

Enter three Gentlemen, hearing him.

 1.Gent. Still doe those loathsome thoughts iarre on your tongue.Your selfe to staine the honour of your Wife,Nobly discended, those whom men call mad,Endangers others, but hee's more then madThat wounds himselfe, whose owne words Do proclaime it is not fit, I pray forsake it.

 2.Gen. Good sir, let modesty reproue you.

 3.Gen. Let honest kindnes sway so much with you.

 Hu. God den, I thanke you sir, how do you? adieu,I am glad to see you, farwell Instructions, Admoniti­ons.Exeunt Gent. 

Enter a seruant.

 Hus. How now sirrha, what would you?

 Ser. Onely to certifie you sir, that my Mistris was met by the way, by them who were sent for her vp to London by her honourable Vnckle, your Worships late gardian.

 Hus. So sir, then she is gone, and so may you be,But let her looke that the thing be done she wots of,Or hell will stand more pleasant then her house at home.Exit seruant. 

Enter a Gentleman.

 Gent. Well or ill met, I care not.

 Hus. No nor I.

 Gent. I am come with confidence to chide you.

 Hus. Who me? chide me? doo't finely then, let it not moue me, for if thou chidst me angry, I shal strike.

 Gent. Strike thine owne follies, for it is they Deserue to be well beaten; wee are now in priuate,Ther's none but thou and I, thou art fond & peeuish,An vncleane ryoter, thy landes and crediteLie now both sicke of a consumption,I am sorry for thee; that man spends with shame,That with his ritches does consume his name,And such art thou.

 Hus. Peace.

 Gent. No thou shalt heare me further.Thy fathers and fore-fathers worthy honors,Which were our country monuments, our grace,Follies in thee begin now to deface,The spring time of thy youth did fairely promisesuch a most fruitfull summer to thy friendsIt scarce can enter into mens beleefes,Such dearth should hang on thee, we that see it,Are sorry to beleeue it: in thy change,This voice into all places will be hurld:thou and the diuell has deceiu'd the world.

 Hus. Ile not endure thee.

 Gent. But of all the worst,Thy vertuous wife right honourably allied,Thou hast proclaimd a strumpet.

 Hus. Nay then I know thee,Thou art her Champion thou, her private friend,The party you wot on.

 Gent. Oh ignoble thought,I am past my patient blood, shall I stand idleand see my reputation toucht to death.

 Hu. This has galde you this, has it?

 Gent.No monster, I proueMy thoughts did onely tend to vertuous loue.

 Hus. Loue of her vertues? there it goes.

 Gent. Base spirit, to lay thy hate vpon The fruitfull honour of thine own bed.

They fight, and the Husband is hurt.

 Hus. Oh.

 Gent. Wilt thou yeeld it yet?

 Hus. Sir, Sir, I haue not done with you.

Fight agen. Gent. I hope nor nere shall do.

 Hus. Haue you got tricks? are you in cunning with me?

 Gent. No, plaine and right.He needs no cunning that for truth doth fight.

Husband falls downe.

 Hus. Hard fortune, am I leueld with the ground?

 Gent. Now sir, you lie at mercy.

 Hus. I you slaue.

 Gent. Alas, that hate should bring vs to our graue,You see my sword's not thirsty for your life,I am sorrier for your wound, then your selfe,Y'are of a vertuous house, shew vertuous deeds,Tis not your honour, tis your folly bleeds,Much good has beene expected in your life,Cancell not all mens hopes, you haue a Wife,Kinde and obedient: heape not wrongfull shameOn her your posterity, let onely sinne be sore,And by this fall, rise neuer to fall more.Exit.And so I leaue you.

 Hus. Has the dogg left me then After his tooth hath left me? Oh, my heartWould faine leape after him, reuenge I say,Ime mad to be reueng'd, my strumpet Wife,It is thy quarrell that rips thus my flesh,And makes my brest spit blood, but thou shalt bleed:Vanquisht? got downe? vnable eene to speake?Surely tis want of money makes men weake,Exit.I, twas that ore-threw me, Ide nere bene downe else.

Enter Wife in a riding suite, with a seruingman.

 Ser. Faith mistris, if it may not be presumptionIn me to tell you so, for his excuseYou had small reason, knowing his abuse.

 Wife. I grant I had, but alasse,Why should our faults at home be spread abroad,Tis greefe enough within doores; at first sightMine Vnckle could run ore his prodigall lifeAs perfectly, as if his serious eyeHad numbred all his follies:Knew of his morgagde lands, his friends in bonds,Himselfe withered with debt; And in that minuteHad I added his vsage and vnkindnesse,Twould haue confounded euery thought of good,Where now, fathering his ryots on his youth,Which time and tame experience will shake off,Guessing his kindnes to me (as I smoothd himWith all the skill I had) though his desartsAre in forme vglier then an vnshapte Beare.Hee's reddy to prefer him to some OfficeAnd place at Court; a good and sure releefe To all his stooping fortunes, twil be a meanes I hopeTo make new league between vs, and redeemeHis vertues with his lands.

 Ser. I should thinke so mistris, If he should not now be kinde to you and loue you, and cherish you vp, I should thinke the deuill himselfe kept open house in him.

 Wife. I doubt not but he will now, prethee leaue me, I thinke I heare him comming.

Exit. Ser. I am gone.

 Wi. By this good meanes I shall preserue my lands,And free my husband out of vsurers hands:Now there is no need of sale, my Vnckles kinde.I hope, if ought, this will content his minde,Here comes my husband.

Enter Husband.

 Hus. Now, are you come, where's the mony, lets see the mony, is the rubbish solde, those wiseakers your lands, why when, the mony, where is it? powre itdowne, downe with it, downe with it, I say powrt on the ground, lets see it, lets see it.

 Wife. Good sir, keepe but in patience, and I hopeMy words shall like you well, I bring you betterComfort then the sale of my Dowry.

 Hus. Ha, whats that?

 Wife. Pray doe not fright me sir, but vouchsafe me hea­ring. My Vnckle glad of your kindnesse to me andmilde vsage (for so I made it to him) hath in pitty ofyour declining fortunes, prouided a place for you at Court, of worth and credite, which so much ouerioyd me———

 Hus. Out on thee filth, ouer and ouerioyd.spurns her.When Ime in torment?Thou pollitick whore, subtiller then nine Deuils, was this thy iourny to Nuncke, to set downe the history of me, my state and fortunes:Shall I that dedicated my selfe to pleasure, bee now confinde in seruice to crouch and stand like an olde man i'th hams, my hat off, I that could neuer abide to vncouer my head i'th Church, base slut, this fruite beares thy complaints.

 Wife. Oh heauen knowes,That my complaintes were praises, and best wordsof you, and your estate: onely my friendsKnew of your morgagde Lands, and were possestOf euery accident before I came.If you suspect it but a plot in me,To keepe my dowry, or for mine owne good,Or my poore childrens (though it sutes a motherTo shew a naturall care in their releefs)Yet Ile forget my selfe to calme your blood,Consume it, as your pleasure counsels you,And all I wish, eene Clemency affoords,Giue me but pleasant lookes and modest words.

 Hus. Money whore, money, or Ile———Drawes his Dagger. Enters a seruant very hastily.What the diuell? how now? thy hasty newes.

 Ser. May it please you sir.

 Hus. What? may I not looke vpon my dagger?Speake villaine, or I will execute the point on thee: quicke, short.

 Ser. Why sir, a gentleman from the Vniuersity staies below to speake with you.

 Hus. From the Vniuersity? so, Vniuersity,Exit.That long word runs through me.

 Wife. Was euer Wife so wretchedly beset?Had not this newes stept in betweene, the pointHad offered violence vnto my brest.That which some women call create misery,Would shew but little here: would scarse be seeneAmong my miseries: I may compareFor wretched fortunes, with all Wiues that are,Nothing will please him, vntill all be nothing.He calles it slauery to be preferd,A place of credite, a base seruitude.What shall become of me, and my poore children?Two here, and one at nurse, my pretty beggers,I see how ruine with a palsie handBegins to shake the ancient seat to dust:The heauy weight of sorrow, drawes my lidsOuer my dankish eyes: I can scarse see;Thus greefe will last, it wakes and sleepes with me.

Enter the Husband with the Master of the Colledge.

 Hus. Please you draw neere sir, y'are exceeding wel­come.

 Mai. That's my doubt, I feare I come not to be wel­come.

 Hus. Yes, howsoeuer.

 Mai. Tis not my fashion sir, to dwell in long circumstance, but to be plaine and effectuall; therefore to the purpose.  The cause of my setting foorth, was pittious & lamentable; that hopefull young gentleman your bro­ther, whose vertues we all loue deerely, through yourdefault and vnnaturall negligence, lies in bond exe­cuted for your debt, a prisoner, all his studies amazed, his hope strook dead, and the pride of his youth muf­fled in these darke clouds of oppression.

 Hus. Hum, hum, hum.

 Maist. Oh you haue kild the towardest hope of all our Vniuersity, wherefore without repentance and a­mends, expect pandorus and suddaine iudgements to fall grieuously vpon you; your brother, a man who pro­fited in his diuine Imployments, and might haue made ten thousand soules fit for heauen, now by your care­lesse courses cast in prison, which you must answere for, and assure your spirit it will come home at length.

 Hus. Oh God, oh.

 Ma. Wise men thinke ill of you, others speake ill of you, no man loues you, nay, euen those whom ho­nesty condemnes, condemne you: and take this from the vertuous affection I beare your brother, neuer looke for prosperous houre, good thought, quiet sleepes, contented walkes, nor any thing that makes man perfect, til you redeeme him: What is your answer, how will you bestow him? vpon desperate misery, or better hopes? I suffer till I heare your answere.

 Hus. Sir, you haue much wrought with me, I feele you in my soule, you are your artes master. I neuer had sence til now; your sillables haue cleft me Both for your words and pains I thanke you: I cannot but acknowledge greeuous wrongs done to my bro­ther,mighty, mighty, mighty wrongs. Within there.

Enter a seruingman.

 Hus. Fill me a bowle of wine. Alas poore brother, Bruised with an execution for my sake.

 Ma. A bruise indeed makes many a mortall sore, Enter with wine.Till the graue cure them.

 Hus. Sir I begin to you, y'aue chid your welcome:

 Mr. I could haue wisht it better for your sake,I pledge you sir, to the kinde man in prison.

 Hus. Let it be so?Now Sir, if you so please to spend but a few minutes in a walking about my grounds below, my man shallheere attend you: I doubt not but by that time to be furnisht of a sufficient answere, and therein my Brother fully satis­fied.

 Mr. Good sir, in that the Angels would be pleased, and the worlds murmures calmd, and I should say I Exit.set foorth then vpon a lucky day.

 Hus. Oh thou confused man, thy pleasant sins haue vndone thee, thy damnation has beggerd thee, that heauen should say we must not sin, and yet made wo­men: giues our sences way to finde pleasure, which being found, confounds vs, why should wee know those things so much misuse vs? Oh would vertue had beene forbidden, wee should then haue prooued all vertu­ous, for tis our blood to loue what wee are forbidden, had not drunkennesse beene forbidden,what man would haue beene foole to a beast, and zany to a swine, to shew tricks in the mire, what is there in three Dice, to make a man draw thrice three thousand acres into the compasse of a little round table, and with the gentlemans palsie in the hand shake out his poste­rity, theeues, or beggers; tis done, I haue don't ifaith: terrible, horrible misery.—how well was I left, very well, very well. My Lands shewed like a full Moone about me, but now the Moone's in the last quarter, waining, waining, and I am mad to thinke that Moone was mine: mine and my fathers, and my fore-fathers generati­ons, generations: downe goes the house of vs, down, downe it sinkes: Now is the name a beggar, begs in me that name which hundreds of yeares has made this shiere famous; in me and my posterity runs out. In my seede fiue are made miserable besides my selfe, my ryot is now my brothers iaylor, my Wiues sighing, my three boyes penurie, and mine own con­fusion.He teares his haire.Why sit my haires vpon my cursed head?Will not this poyson scatter them? oh my brother'sIn execution among diuels that stretch him: And make him giue; and I in want, Not able for to liue, nor to redeeme him.Diuines and dying men may talke of hell,But in my heart her seuerall torments dwell,Slauery and mysery. Who in this case Would not take vp money vpon his soule? Pawne his saluation, liue at interest: I that did euer in aboundance dwell,For me to want, exceeds the throwes of hell.

Enters his little sonne, with a top and a scourge.

Son. What aile you father, are you not well, I can­not scourge my top as long as you stand so: you take vp all the roome with your wide legs, puh, you can­not make me affraid with this, I feare no vizards, nor bugbeares.

He takes vp the child by the skirts of his long coate in one hand, and drawes his dag­ger with the other.

 Hus. Vp sir, for heere thou hast no inheritance left.

 Sonne. Oh what will you do father, I am your white boie.strikes him.

 Hus. Thou shalt be my red boy, take that.

 Son. Oh you hurt me father.

 Hus. My eldest beggar, thou shalt not liue to aske an vsurer bread, to cry at a great mans gate, or follow, good your Honor by a Coach, no, nor your brother:tis charity to braine you.

 Son. How shall I learne, now my head's broke?

stabs him. Hu. Bleed, bleed, rather then beg beg,Be not thy names disgrace:Spurne thou thy fortunes first, if they be base:Come view thy second brother: Fates,My childrens bloud shall spin into your faces, You shall see,Exit with his sonne.How confidently we scorne beggery.

Enter a maid with a childe in her armes, the Mo­ther by her aslepe.M. Sleep sweet babe sorrow makes thy mother sleep,It boades small good when heauinesse fals so deepe,Hush pretty boy, thy hopes might haue bene better,Tis lost at Dice, what ancient honour won,Hard when the father plaies away the Sonne:Nothing but misery serues in this house,Ruine and desolation; oh.

Enter Husband with the boy bleeding.

 Hus. Whore, giue me that boy.Striues with her for the child.

 Maid. Oh helpe, helpe, out alas, murder, murder.

 Hus. Are you gossiping, prating sturdy queane, Ile breake your clamour with your necke,Downe staires; tumble, tumble, headlong,He throwes her downe. So, the surest way to charme a womans tongue,Is breake her necke, a Politician did it.

 Son. Mother, mother, I am kild mother.

His wife awakes, and catcheth up the youngest.

 Wife. Ha, who's that cride? Oh me my children,Both, both, both; bloudy, bloudy.

 Hus. Strumpet, let go the boy, let go the beggar.

 Wife. Oh my sweete husband.

 Hus. Filth, harlot.

 Wife. Oh what will you do deere husband?

 Hus. Giue me the bastard.

 Wife. Your owne sweete boy.

 Hus. There are too many beggars.

 Wife. Good my husband.

 Hus. Dost thou preuent me still?

 Wife. Oh God!Stabs at the child in her armes, & gets it from her.

 Hus. Haue at his heart.

 Wife. Oh my deare boy.

 Hus. Brat, thou shalt not liue to shame thy house.

She is hurt and sinks downe. Wife. Oh heauen.

 Hus. And perish, now be gone,Ther's whores enow, and want would make thee one.

Enter a lusty seruant.

 Ser. Oh sir, what deeds are these?

 Hus. Base slaue, my vassaile,Com'st thou betweene my fury to question me?

 Ser: Were you the diuell, I would hold you sir.

 Hus. Hold me? presumption, Ile vndo thee for it.

 Ser. Sbloud, you haue vndone vs all sir.

 Hus. Tug at thy Master?

 Ser. Tug at a Monster.

 Hus. Haue I no power, shall my slaue fetter me?

 Ser. Nay then the diuell wrastles, I am thowne.Husband ouercomes him.

 Hus. Oh villaine, now Ile tug thee, now Ile teare thee, set quicke spurs to my vassaile, bruize him, trample him; so, I thinke thou wilt not follow me in haste.My horse stands ready sadled, away, away,Now to my brat at nurse, my sucking begger;Fates, Ile not leaue you one to trample one.

The Master meets him.

 Mr. How ist with you sir, me-thinks you looke of a distracted colour.

 Hus. Who I sir, tis but your fancy,Please you walke in sir, and Ile soone resolue you,I want one small part to make vp the sum,And then my brother shall rest satisfied.

 Mr. I shall be glad to see it, sir Ile attend you.Exeunt.  

 Ser. Oh, I am scarce able to heaue vp my selfe,He has so bruizd me with his diuellish waight,And torne my flesh with his bloud-hasty spur,A man before of easie constitution,Till now hels power supplied; to his soules wrong,Oh how damnation can make weake men strong.

Enter Master and two seruants.

 Ser. Oh the most pittious deed sir since you came.

 Mr. A deadly greeting; hath he sumd vp theseTo satisfie his brother? heere's another,And by the bleeding infants, the dead mother.

 Wife. Oh, oh.

 Mr. Surgeons, Surgeons, she recouers life,One of his men all faint and bloudied.

 1.Ser. Follow, our murderous Master has tooke Horse to kill his childe at nurse, oh follow quickly.

 Mr. I am the readiest, it shall be my chargeTo raise the Towne vpon him.Exit Master and seruants. 

 1.Ser. Good sir follow him.

 Wife. Oh my children.

 1.Ser. How is it with my most afflicted Mistris?

 Wife. Why do I now recouer? why halfe liue?To see my children bleed before mine eies,A sight, able to kill a Mothers breast without an executioner; what, art thou mangled too?

 1.Ser. I thinking to preuent what his quicke mis­chiefes had so soone acted, came and rusht vpon him,We strugled, but a fowler strength then hisOre-threw me with his armes, then did he bruize meAnd rent my flesh, and robd me of my haire,Like a man mad in execution,Made me vnfit to rise and follow him.

 Wife. What is it has beguilde him of all grace?And stole away humanity from his brest,To slay his children, purposed to kill his wife,And spoile his seruants.

Enter two seruants.

 Ambo. Please you leaue this accursed place, A surgeon waites within.

 Wife.Willing to leaue it,Tis guilty of sweete bloud, innocent bloud,Murder has tooke this chamber with full hands,And will not out as long as the house stands.Exeunt.  

Enter Husband, as being throwne of hisHorse, and falles.

 Hus. Oh stumbling Iade, the spauin ouertake thee,The fifty diseases stop thee;Oh, I am sorely bruisde, plague founder thee, Thou runst at ease and pleasure, hart of chance,To throw me now, within a flight o'th Towne,In such plaine eeuen ground, Sfoot, a man may dice vp­on it, and throw away the Medowes, ah filthy beast.Cry within.Follow, follow, follow.

 Hus. Ha? I heare sounds of men, like hew and cry,Vp, vp, and struggle to thy horse, make on,Dispatch that little begger, and all's done.Cry within.Heere, this way, this way.

 Hus. At my backe? oh,What fate haue I, my limbes deny me go,My will is bated, beggery claimes a part,Oh could I here reach to the infants heart.

Enter Master of the Colledge, three Gentlemen, and others with Holberds.

 All. Heere, heere, yonder, yonder.

 Ma. Vnnaturall, flinty, more then barbarous,The Scythians in their marble hearted fates,Could not haue acted more remorselesse deedsIn their relentlesse natures, then these of thine:Was this the answer I long waited on,The satisfaction for thy prisoned brother?

 Hus. He can haue no more of vs, then our skins,And some of them want but fleaing.

 1.Gent. Great sinnes haue made him impudent.

 Ma. Has shed so much blood that he cannot blush.

 2 Gent. Away with him, beare him to the Iustices,A gentleman of worship dwels at hand,There shall his deeds be blazed.

 Hus. Why all the better,My glory tis to haue my action knowne,I greeue for nothing, but I mist of one.

 Mr. There's little of a father in that griefe;Exeunt.Beare him away.

Enter a Knight, with two or three Gentlemen.

 Knight. Endangered so his Wife, murdered his chil­dren?

 1.Gent. So the cry goes.

 Knight. I am sorry I ere knew him,That euer he tooke life and naturall beingFrom such an honoured stocke, and faire discent,Till this blacke minute without staine or blemish.

 1.Gent. Heere come the men.

Enter the Master of the Colledge, and the restwith the prisoner.

 Knight. The Serpent of his house: Ime sorry for this time, that I am in place of iustice.

 Mr. Please you sir.

 Knight. Do not repeate it twice, I know too much, Would it had nere bene thought on.Sir, I bleed for you.

 1.Gent. Your fathers sorrowes are aliue in me;What made you shew such monstrous cruelty?

 Hus. In a worde sir, I haue cousumd all, plaid away long acre,And I thought it the chariblest deed I could do,To cussen beggery, and knock my house o'th head.

 Kni. Well, I do not thinke but in to morrowes iudgementThe terror will sit closer to your soule,When the dread thought of death remembers you,To further which, take this sad voyce from me,Neuer was acte plaid more vnnaturally.

 Hus. I thanke you sir.

 Knight. Goe leade him to the Iayle,Where iustice claimes all, there must pitty faile.

 Hus.Come, come, away with me.Exit prisoner. 

 Mr. Sir, you deserue the worship of your place,Would all did so, in you the law is grace.

 Knight. It is my wish it should be so;Ruinous man, the desolation of his house, The blot vpon his predecessors honord name:Exit.That man is neerest shame that's past shame.

Enter Husband with the Officers, The Master and Gen­tlemen, as going by his house.

 Hus. I am right against my house, seat of my ance­stors;I heare my wife's aliue; but much endangered;let me intreate to speake with her before the prison gripe me.

Enter his Wife, brought in a Chaire.

 Gent. See heere, she comes of her selfe.

 Wife. Oh my sweete husband, my deere distressed husband, now in the hands of vnrelenting lawes; my greatest sorrow, my extremest bleeding; now mysoule bleeds.

 Hus. How now? kinde to me? did not I wound thee, leaue thee for dead?

 Wife. Tut, farre greater wounds did my brest feele,Vnkindnesse strikes a deeper wound then steele,You haue beene still vnkinde to me.

 Hus. Faith, and so I thinke I haue;I did my murders roughly out of hand,Desperate and suddaine, but thou hast deuiz'dA fine way now to kill mee, thou hast giuen mine eiesSeauen wounds a peece; now glides the diuell fromMe, departs at euery ioynt, heaues vp my nailes.Oh catch him new torments, that were nere inuented,Binde him one thousand more you blessed Angels,In that bottomlesse pit, let him not riseTo make men acte vnnaturall tragedies,To spread into a Father, and in fury,Make him his childrens executioners,Murder his wife, his seruants, and who not?For that man's darke, where heauen is quite forgot.

 Wife. Oh my repentant husband.

 Hu. My deare soule, whom I too much haue wrongdFor death I die, and for this haue I long'd.

 Wife. Thou shouldst not (be assured) for these faults Die, if the law could forgiue as soone as I.

Children laid out.

 Hus. What sight is yonder?

 Wife. Oh, our two bleeding boyes Laid foorth vpon the threshold.

 Hus. Heer's weight enough to make a hart-string crack,Oh were it lawfull that your pretty soulesMight looke from heauen into your fathers eyes,Then should you see the penitent glasses melt,And both your murders shoote vpon my cheekes,But you are playing in the Angels laps,And will not looke on me,Who void of grace, kild you in beggery.Oh that I might my wishes now attaine,I should then wish you liuing were againe;Though I did beg with you, which thing I feard,Oh twas the enemy my eyes so bleard.Oh would you could pray heauen me to forgiue,That will vnto my end repentant liue.

 Wif. It makes me eene forget all other sorrowes,And leaue part with this.

 Officer. Come, will you goe?

 Hus. Ile kisse the bloud I spilt, and then Ile goe,My soule is bloudied, well may my lips be so.Farwell deere Wife, now thou and I must part,I of thy wrongs, repent me with my heart.

 Wife. Oh stay, thou shalt not goe.

 Hus. That's but in vaine, you see it must be so.Farwell ye bloudy ashes of my boyes,My punishments are their eternall ioyes.Let euery father looke well into my deeds,And then their heirs may prosper, while mine bleeds.Exeunt Husband with Officers, 

 Wife. More wretched am I now in this distresse, Then former sorrowes made me.

 Mr. Oh kinde Wife, be comforted,Once ioy is yet vnmurdered,You have a boy at Nurse, your ioye's in him.

 Wife. Dearer then all is my poore husbands life:Heauen give my body sirength which yet is faintWith much expence of blood, and I will kneele,Sue for his life, number vp all my friends,To plead for pardon for my deare husbands life?

 Mr. Was it in man to wound so kinde a creature?Ile euer praise a woman for thy sake.I must returne with griefe, my answer's set,I shall bring newes weighes heauier then the debt.Two brothers; one in bond lies ouerthrowne,This, on a deadlier execution.

FINIS.