Den.  Whether a knavishe or a sinneful load,
Or one or bothe I know not; massye it is,
And if no frend will for mee,[138] I’l bee sorry
For myne owne heavinesse.  And heare’s a place,
Though neather of the secretest nor the best,
To unlade myself of this Iniquity. 
When I satt late astryde upon the wall,
To lyft the ladder this waye for descent,
Mee thought the fryar lookt lyke S George a horsback
And I his trusty steede.  But nowes no triflynge: 
Hee’s[139] where hee is in Comons, wee discharged,
Boathe of suspect and murther; which lett the covent
To-morrowe morninge answere howe they cann. 
I’I backe the waye wee came; what’s doon, none sawe
I’th howse nor herde; they answer then the Lawyer.
          
                                 [Exit.

Enter Fryar Richard.

Fr. R.  Of all Infirmityes belonginge to us
I hould those woorst that will not lett a man
Rest in his bedd a-nights.  And I of that,
By reason of a late could I have gott,
Am at this instant guilty; which this rushinge
From a warme bedd in these wild frosty nights
Rather augments then helpes; but all necessityes
Must bee obeyde.  But soft, there’s one before mee: 
By this small glimpse of moone light I perceave him
To bee Fryar Jhon, my antient adversary.[140]
Why Jhon? why Jhon? what! not speake! why, then
I see ’tis doon of malyce, and of purpose
Only to shame mee, since hee knowes the rest
Take notyce what a loose man I am growne. 
Nay prithee, sweete fryar Jhon, I am in hast,
Horrible hast; doo but release mee nowe,
I am thy frend for ever.  What! not heare! 
Feigne to bee deaf of purpose, and of slight! 
Then heare is that shall rouse you.  Are you falne?
    [Eather[141] strykes him with a staffe or casts a stone. 
What, and still mute and sylent? nay, not styrr? 
I’l rowse you with a vengance! not one limbe
To doo his woonted offyce, foot nor hand? 
Not a pulse beatinge, no breathe? what no motion? 
Oh mee of all men lyvinge most accurst! 
I have doon a fearefull murder, which our former
Inveterate hate will be a thousand testats
That I for that insidiated his lyfe. 
The deedes apparant and the offens past pardon. 
There’s nowe no waye but fly:  but fly! which way? 
The cloyster gates are all bar’d and fast lockt;
These suddeine mischieffes shuld have suddeine shifts. 
About it breyne and in good tyme.  I hate![142]
Suspitious rumors have bene lately spread
And more then whispered of th’incontinent love
Fryar Jhon boare to the knight’s Lady.  Had I meanes
Howe to conveighe his body o’er the wall
To any or the least part of the howse,
It might bee thought the knight in jelosy
Had doone this murder in a just revendge. 
Let me surveighe th’ascent:  happy occation!