Hub.  Yes, were not those rumours
Of being called unto your answer, spread
By your own followers? and weak Gerrard wrought
(But by your cunning practice) to believe
That you were dangerous; yet not to be
Punish’d by any formal course of Law,
But first to be made sure, and have your crimes
Laid open after, which your quaint train taking
You fled unto the Camp, and [there] crav’d humbly
Protection for your innocent life, and that,
Since you had scap’d the fury of the War,
You might not fall by treason:  and for proof,
You did not for your own ends make this danger;
Some that had been before by you suborn’d,
Came forth and took their Oaths they had been hir’d
By Gerrard to your Murther.  This once heard,
And easily believ’d, th’inraged Souldier
Seeing no further than the outward-man,
Snatch’d hastily his Arms, ran to the Court,
Kill’d all that made resistance, cut in pieces
Such as were Servants, or thought friends to Gerrard,
Vowing the like to him.

Wol.  Will you yet end?

Hub.  Which he foreseeing, with his Son, the Earl,
Forsook the City; and by secret wayes
As you give out, and we would gladly have it,
Escap’d their fury:  though ’tis more than fear’d
They fell amongst the rest; Nor stand you there
To let us only mourn the impious means
By which you got it, but your cruelties since
So far transcend your former bloody ills,
As if compar’d, they only would appear
Essays of mischief; do not stop your ears,
More are behind yet.

Wol.  O repeat them not, ’Tis Hell to hear them nam’d.

Hub.  You should have thought, That Hell would be your punishment when you did them, A Prince in nothing but your princely lusts, And boundless rapines.

Wol.  No more I beseech you.

Hub.  Who was the Lord of house or land, that stood Within the prospect of your covetous eye?

Wol.  You are in this to me a greater Tyrant, Than e’re I was to any.

Hub.  I end thus
The general grief:  now to my private wrong;
The loss of Gerrards Daughter Jaqueline: 
The hop’d for partner of my lawful Bed,
Your cruelty hath frighted from mine arms;
And her I now was wandring to recover. 
Think you that I had reason now to leave you,
When you are grown so justly odious,
That ev’n my stay here with your grace and favour,
Makes my life irksome? here, surely take it,
And do me but this fruit of all your friendship,
That I may dye by you, and not your Hang-man.

Wol.  Oh Hubert, these your words and reasons have
As well drawn drops of blood from my griev’d heart,
As these tears from mine eyes;
Despise them not. 
By all that’s sacred, I am serious, Hubert,
You now have made me sensible, what furies,