CLIN.  Farewell, my love.  No rest shall close these eyes,
Until the morning peep; and then he dies.
                                        [Exit CLINTON.

CAS. [Soliloq.] Now I remember, I have quite outrun
My time prefix’d to dwell upon the earth: 
Yet Akercock is absent:  where is he? 
O, I am glad I am so well near rid
Of my earth’s plague and my lascivious dame.

MAR.  Hath he discover’d my intendment,
That he presages his ensuing death? 
I must break off these fearful meditations.

CAS.  How shall I give my verdict up to Pluto
Of all these accidents?

MAR.  Why, how now, man?

CAS.  What, my dear dame! my reconciled spouse! 
Upon my soul, my love to thee is more
Now at this present than ’twas e’er before.

MAR.  He hath descried me sure, he sootheth me so! [Aside.]

CAS.  I love thee now, because I now must leave thee. 
This was the day of my nativity,
And therefore, sweet wife, let us revel it.

MAR.  Nay, I have little cause to joy at all.

CAS.  Thou Grossest still my mirth with discontents! 
If ever heretofore I have displeas’d thee,
Sweet dame, I crave thy pardon now for all. 
This is my birthday, girl, I must rejoice: 
Ask what thou wilt, and I will give it thee.

MAR.  Should I but ask to lead a quiet life,
You hardly would grant this unto your wife;
Much less a thing that were of more import.

CAS.  Ask anything, and try if I’ll deny thee.

MAR.  O my poor Musgrave, how hast thou been wrong’d,
And my fair lady!

CAS.  Use no preambles,
But tell me plainly.

MAR.  Nay, remember them,
And join their slander to that love you owe me,
And then old Lacy’s jealousy.

CAS.  What then?

MAR.  Nay, now I see you will not understand me.

CAS.  Thou art too dark; speak plainly, and ’tis done.

MAR.  Then doom the earl, and bless poor Musgrave’s eyes
With Honorea’s love; for this in thy hands lies.

CAS.  How should I doom him?

MAR.  How else, but to death?

CAS.  As if his life or death lay in my hands?

MAR.  He is thy patient, is he not?

CAS.  He is.

MAR.  Then in thy hands lie both his life and death. 
Sweet love, let Marian beg it at thy hand: 
Why should the grey-beard live to cross us all? 
Nay, now I see thee frown:  thou wilt not do it.

CAS.  Fie, fie, dame! you are too suspicious. 
Here is my hand, that thou may’st know I love thee;
I’ll poison him this night before I sleep.

MAR.  Thou dost but flatter me!

CAS.  Tush!  I have sworn it.

MAR.  And wilt thou do it?

CAS.  He is sure to die.

MAR.  I’ll kiss thy lips for speaking that kind word: 
But do it, and I’ll hang about thy neck,
And curl thy hair, and sleep betwixt thy arms,
And teach thee pleasures which thou never knew’st.