Fr. Jhon.  Guide mee too’t, Nay, quickly guerle:—­how I allredy surfett In this nights expectation!

Mayde.  Staye you heare In this withdraweinge roome, I’l fetch a light For safeguard of your shinnes.

Denis.  Shee might have sayde For safeguard of his necke.

Mayde.  My sceane’s doone; The next act lyes amongst them. [Exit.[114]

Fr. Jhon.  My part dothe but beginne nowe and I’l act it
In exquisite cleane linnen; and this capp
Proffred of purpose, least I should smell fryar. 
What differ wee i’th darke, save our shaven crowne,
From gentlemen, nay Lords? nature hath araied us
As well as the best layemen:  why should lawe
Restreyne from us what is allowed to them? 
Lett it curbe fooles and idiots, such as throughe folly
Will not, or nycenes dare not, tast what’s sweete,
Alyke made for all pallats.

Lord Av.  Howe the slave Insults in his damnation! cease the wretch, I can indure no lonnger.

Fr. Jhon.  Such as ban Proffred delights may, if they please, refuse; What’s borne with mee I will make bold to use.

Lord Av.  And I what thou weart borne too, that’s a halter.  Pull without feare or mercy, strangle him With all his sinnes about him; t’were not else A revendge worthe my fury.

[Fry:  strangled.

Dennis.  I dare nowe Lodge him a whole night by my syster’s syde, Hee’s nowe past strompetting.

Lord Av.  Tis night with him, A longe and lastinge night.

Denis.  Hee lyes as quiet.  You did well, Fryare, to putt on your cleane linnen; Twill serve you as a shrowde for a new grave.  Whither shall wee lyft his body?

Lord Av.  I am on the suddeine Growne full of thoughts; the horror of the fact Breedes strange seditions in mee.

Denis.  Hee perhapps But counterfetts dead sleep.  I’l hollowe to him To see if I can wake him.

Lord Av.  Trifle not;
The sinne will proove more serious.  To a conscience
Startled with blood and murder, what a terror
Is in the deede, being doone, which bredd before
Boathe a delight and longing!  This sadd spectacle
Howe itt affrights mee!

Denis.  Letts remove itt then.

Lord Av.  The sinne it self, the churches malediction,
As doone to one of a sequestred lyfe
And holly order, the lawes penalty,
Being duble forfeture of lyfe and state,
Reproach, shame, infamy, all these incur’d
Through my inconsiderate rashnes!

Denis.  My lyfe, too.  Howe to prevent the danger of all these?

Lord Av.  Ey, that will aske much breyne, much project.

Denis.  Sir, Shall we poppe him in som privy?

Lord Av.  Duble injurye,
To praye upon the soule and after deathe
Doo to the body such discoortesy;
It neather savours of a generous spyritt
Nor that which wee call manly.