Wil.  Why do you not then carry up a light, But suffer them to tarry in the darke?

Rach.  I had forgot, but I will beare one up. [Exit up.

Wil.  Do so, I prethee; he will chide anon. [Exit.

    [Rachell speaketh to her Brother.

Rach.  Oh brother, brother, what have you done?

Mer.  Why, murtherd one that would have murtherd me.

Rach.  We are undone, brother, we are undone.  What shall I say, for we are quite undone?

Mer.  Quiet thy selfe, sister; all shalbe well.  But see in any case you do not tell, This deede to Williams nor to any one.

Rach.  No, no, I will not; was’t not maister Beech?

Mer.  It was, it is, and I will kill his man, [Exit Rach.  Or in attempting doe the best I can.

    Enter Williams and Rachell.

Wil.  What was the matter that you cride so lowde?

Rach.  I must not tell you, but we are undone.

Wil.  You must not tell me, but we are undone!  Ile know the cause wherefore we are undone. [Exit up.

Rach.  Oh would the thing were but to doe againe!  The thought thereof doth rent my hart in twaine. [She goes up.

    Williams to Merry above.

Wil.  Oh maister, maister, what have you done?

Mer.  Why slaine a knave that would have murtherd me; Better to kill, then to be kild my selfe.

Wil.  With what? wherewith? how have you slaine the man?

Mer.  Why, with this hammer I knockt out his braines.

Wil.  Oh it was beastly so to butcher him. 
If any quarrell were twixt him and you,
You should have bad him meete you in the field,
Not like a coward under your owne roofe
To knock him downe as he had bin an oxe,
Or silly sheepe prepard for slaughter house. 
The Lord is just, and will revenge his blood,
On you and yours for this extremitie. 
I will not stay an hower within your house,
It is the wickedst deed that ere was done.

Mer.  Oh, sir, content your selfe, all shall be well; Whats done already cannot be undone.

Rach.  Oh would to God, the deed were now to do,
And I were privie to your ill intent,
You should not do it then for all the world. 
But prethie, Harry, do not leave the house,
For then suspition will arise thereof,
And if the thing be knowne we are undone.

Wil.  Forsake the house!  I will not stay all night, Though you will give the wealth of Christendome.

Mer.  But yet conceale it, for the love of God; If otherwise, I know not what to do.

Wil.  Here is my hand, ile never utter it; Assure your selfe of that, and so farewell.

Mer.  But sweare to me, as God shall help thy soule, Thou wilt not tell it unto any one.