Lady.  Praye, no extreames:  Where one offends shall for his heighnous fact So many suffer? there’s no justyce in’t.

Lord Av.  Som justyce I would showe them heare on earthe Before they finde it multiplyed in heaven.

Lady.  For my sake, syr, do not for one man’s error
Destroy a woorke of perpetuity,
By which your name shall lyve.  One man offends;
Lett the delinquent suffer.

Lord Av.  So’t shallbe, And thou hast well advysed.  Som pen and Inke theire!

Lady.  What purpose you?

Lord Av.  That’s soly to my selfe And in my fyxt thoughts stands irreproovable.

    Enter Dennis with pen, inke, and paper.

Syr, heares pen inke and paper.

Lord Av.  To his letter My self will give him answer. (writes)

Denis.  Suer all’s not well that on the suddane thus My lord is so distempered.

Lady.  I have, I feare,
Styr’d such a heate, that nought save blood will quensh: 
But wish my teares might doo’t; hee’s full of storme,
And that in him will not bee easily calmd. 
His rage and troble both pronounce him guiltles
Of this attempt, which makes mee rather doubt
Hee may proove too seveare in his revendge,
Which I with all indevour will prevent
Yet to the most censorious I appeale,
What coold I lesse have doone to save myne honor
From suffringe beneathe skandall?

Lord Av.  See, heare’s all: 
’Tis short and sweete, wryte this in your own hand
Without exchange of the least sillable. 
Insert in copiinge no suspitious dash,
No doubtfull comma; then subscribe your name,
Seal’t then with your own signet and dispatche it
As I will have dyrected; doo’t, I charge you,
Without the least demurre or fallacy. 
By dooinge this you shall prevent distrust
Or future breach beetwixt us; you shall further
Expresse a just obediens.

Lady.  Syr, I shall, What ere your concealed purpose bee, I shall.

Lord Av.  Provyde mee horses, I will ryde.

Denis.  When, syr?

Lord Av.  Instantly, after dinner, and gie’t out I am not to returne till three dayes hence, So spreade it throughe the howse.

Denis.  What followers, Syr, Meane you to take alonge?

Lord Av.  Thyself, no more, For ’tis a private busines, and withall; Provyde mee,—­harke thyne eare.

Denis.  A stronge one, Syrr.

Lord Av.  One that will howld; withall give pryvate order
At night the guarden gates may bee left open,
By whiche wee may returne unknowne to any. 
What I intend lyes heare.

Denis.  All wee servants Are bownd to doo, but not examine what; That’s out of our comission.

Lord Av.  ’Twixt us too I shall resolve thee further.