cuse him?

_Ele_. As the murtherer
Both of my name and honour. In the hurry,
When the Citty (they said) was ready to be taken,
I being betrothed to this young gentleman,
My father brought me to his father's house,
Telling me their dwelt safety.--There dwelt villany,
Treason, lust, basenes! for this godlesse man
(The storme being ore) came in & forcd from me
The Jewell of my virgin honour.

_Hen_. False!

_Fer_. I would not have thee thinke (thou graceles wretch)
She, being contracted to thee, loving thee,
Loving thee far more dearly then her selfe,
Would wound her vertue soe, so blott her fame
And bring a scandall on my house & me,
Were not the fact most true.

_Hen_. Most false by all that ever man can sweare by.
We falling out, I told her once I nere
Would marry her; & soe she workes this mischiefe.

_Gyr_. You here stand chargd for ravishing her, & you
Must marry her or she may have your life.

_Mac_. Lady, what say you? which had you rather have,
His life or him?

_Ele_. I am not cruell; pay me my first Bond
Of marriage, which you seald to, & I free you
And shall with Joy run flying to your armes.

_All_. Law you?[53]

_Mac_. That's easy enough.

_Hen_. Rackes, Gibbetts, wheeles make sausages of my flesh first!
Ile be ty'd to no man's Strumpet.

_Alq_. Then you muste look to dye.

_Mac_. Lady, withdraw.

_Hen_. Well, if I doe, somebody shall packe.

_Ele_. Oh me, unfortunate Creature! [_Exit_.

_Enter Manuell to be rackt; Jaylour & Officers_.

_Med_. _Don Manuell Guzman_ ere you taste the tortures,
Which you are sure to feele, will you confesse
This murther of your father?

_Man_. Pray, give me privacy a little with my brother.

_All_. [_Alq_.?] Take it.

_Man_. O brother your owne Conscience knowes you wrong me:
Ile rather suffer on the Gallow Tree
Then thus be torne in pieces. Canst thou see mee
Thus worryed amongst hangmen? deare _Henrico_,
For heavens sake, for thine owne sake pitty mee.

_All_. [_Alq_.?] What sayes he?

_Hen_. Cunning, cunning, cunning Traytour!
In my eare he confesses all again and prayes me
To speake to you.

_Mac_. Will you openly confesse?

_Man_. No, no, I cannot. Caytiffe, I spake not soe:
I must not wound my Conscience to lay on it
A guilt it knowes not. Ile not so dishonour
My father, nor my ancestours before me,
Nor my posterity with such an earthquake
To shake