Mac.  That’s easy enough.

Hen.  Rackes, Gibbetts, wheeles make sausages of my flesh first!  Ile be ty’d to no man’s Strumpet.

Alq.  Then you muste look to dye.

Mac.  Lady, withdraw.

Hen.  Well, if I doe, somebody shall packe.

Ele.  Oh me, unfortunate Creature! [Exit.

    Enter Manuell to be rackt; Jaylour & Officers.

Med. Don Manuell Guzman ere you taste the tortures, Which you are sure to feele, will you confesse This murther of your father?

Man.  Pray, give me privacy a little with my brother.

All. [Alq.?] Take it.

Man.  O brother your owne Conscience knowes you wrong me: 
Ile rather suffer on the Gallow Tree
Then thus be torne in pieces.  Canst thou see mee
Thus worryed amongst hangmen? deare Henrico,
For heavens sake, for thine owne sake pitty mee.

All. [Alq.?] What sayes he?

Hen.  Cunning, cunning, cunning Traytour!  In my eare he confesses all again and prayes me To speake to you.

Mac.  Will you openly confesse?

Man.  No, no, I cannot.  Caytiffe, I spake not soe: 
I must not wound my Conscience to lay on it
A guilt it knowes not.  Ile not so dishonour
My father, nor my ancestours before me,
Nor my posterity with such an earthquake
To shake our noble house.

Mac.  Give him the Law then.

Man.  Ile meete a thousand deaths first.

Hen.  Plucke, & plucke home, for he’s a murtherous Villaine.

Man.  Thou worse, a divell.

Mac.  Racke him!

Man.  Oh stay! for heavens sake spread your mercy!  I doe confesse the murther; I killd my father.

All.  Take him off!

Man.  This hand stabbd him.

Mac.  Where?

Man.  Neere St. Germains In Paris, in a darke night, & then I fled.

Mac.  Thy owne tongue is thy Judge; take him away:  To-morrow looke to dye:  send him a Confessour.

Jay.  Ile have a holy care of him.

          [Exit Manuell, led by the Jaylour.

Hen.  Who’s now, my lords, the Villaine?

    Enter Eleonora & Buzzano.

Ele.  Oh Justice, here’s a witnesse of my Rape.

Mac.  Did you see’t, sirra?

Buz.  See’t! no, sir, would I had; but when she was in labour I heard her cry out “helpe! helpe!” & the Gamboll being ended she came in like a mad woman, ruffled & crumpled, her haire about her eares; & he all unbrac’d, sweating as if he had bene thrashing; & afterwards he told me, my lords, that he had downe diddled her.

Hen.  I now am lost indeed, & on my knee
Beg pardon of that goodnes, that pure Temple
Which my base lust prophand, & will make good
My wrongs to her by marriage.