Tho.  O, dispaire,
Grimme homicide of soules, how thou involvst
More haplesse creatures in distracted Ills
Ore [w]home thou triumpst; but Ile fright thee hence: 
No feind shall add a trophy to thy acts
For victory over her.] Deare madam, heare me: 
You had a noble husband, while he livd;
And I beleive
That no perswasion cold have forcd you yeild
To vitiation of his honord bed,
Not with a prince.  And will you give your soule,
Which heaven in its creation had designd
A bride to faire eternity of blisse,
By vild procurement of hells bawd, despaire,
To prostitution of unnaturall death
And then of woes erelasting which admit
Noe diminution?  Can you heare this, Madam,
And does the flintie substance of your heart
Not thaw, like to a hill of Russian Ice
When fires applid to’t?  Yes, your eyes demonstrate
It[126] melts already.

Cla.  Deare Mother, please you walke Into your Chamber:  here the wind is cold And may disease your weaknes.

Mag.  Here is your vayle, and’t please your ladiship.

Lady.  Let me alone, you trouble me; I feele
A soddaine change; each organ of my soule
Suffers a strong vicissitude; and, though
I do detest a voluntary death,
My Conscience tells me that it is most iust
That the cursd author of such impious ills
Ought not to live.

Tho.  O thinke not soe:  those words
Retaine affinity with that passion
I hop’d youd left.  The greatest of your Sinns
Mercy will smile at, when you doe implore
Its unconsuming grace:  the dullest cloud
Will, when you pray, be active as the ayre
In opening to receive that breath to heaven
Thats spent to purge your ills.  Why, you may live
To make a faire lustration for your faults
And die a happie Convert.

[Ho]llow within:  Follow, follow, follow! that way he went.

    Enter Young Marlowe, Alexander, [Consta]ble and [office]rs.

Y.  M.  Hell, I will flie no farther; since my hand Is guilt in murder it shall sacrifice Some of my apprehenders.

Tho.  Whats the matter?  Deare Sir, what ayles you?

Lady.  O my Sonne!  I feare.

Alex.  Stand back, goe to; what meanes this rudenes.  I say goe to, keepe back.

Con.  Sir, we must enter:  here he is.  I charge you Asist us to lay hold on him.

Lady.  Why, how now, Fellowes? what makes you presse in here thus rudely?  Whom do you follow?

Con.  Madam, Ime sorry my authority Enforces me to doe it:  your sonn iust now Has slaine one Mr. Thurstone, and the law Commaunds us apprehend him.

Y.  M.  Here take my sword: 
When I but doe waigh the iustnes of the cause
For which I suffer, though I could escape,
My Conscience would forbid me.  Come, Ile goe
Whither you please.