--O, the time he did so!
Joyed at her death, inhuman slave to do so!
Exchang'd her love for a base strumpet's lust;
Foul wretch! accursed villain! to exchange so.

MRS ART. You are wise and blest, and happy to repent so:
But what became of him and his new wife?

Y. ART. O, hear the justice of the highest heaven:
This strumpet, in reward of all his love,
Pursues him for the death of his first wife;
And now the woful husband languisheth,
And flies abroad,[23] pursu'd by her fierce hate;
And now too late he doth repent his sin,
Ready to perish in his own despair,
Having no means but death to rid his care.

MRS ART. I can endure no more, but I must weep;
My blabbing tears cannot my counsel keep. [_Aside_.

Y. ART. Why weep you, mistress? if you had the heart
Of her whom you resemble in your face--
But she is dead, and for her death
The sponge of either eye
Shall weep red tears, till every vein is dry.

MRS ART. Why weep you, friend? your rainy drops pray keep;
Repentance wipes away the drops of sin.
Yet tell me, friend--he did exceeding ill,
A wife that lov'd and honour'd him to kill.
Yet say one like her, far more chaste than fair,
Bids him be of good comfort, not despair.
Her soul's appeased with his repentant tears,
Wishing he may survive her many years.
Fain would I give him money to supply
His present wants, but fearing he should fly,
And getting over to some foreign shore,
These rainy eyes should never see him more.
My heart is full, I can no longer stay,
But what I am, my love must needs bewray. [_Aside_.
Farewell, good fellow, and take this to spend;
Say, one like her commends her to your friend. [_Exit_.

Y. ART. No friend of mine. I was my own soul's foe,
To murther my chaste wife, that lov'd me so!
In life she lov'd me dearer than her life:
What husband here but would wish such a wife?
I hear the officers with hue and cry;
She saved my life but now, and now I die.
And welcome, death! I will not stir from hence;
Death I deserv'd, I'll die for this offence.

_Enter_ BRABO, _with_ OFFICERS, MISTRESS SPLAY, _and_ HUGH.

BRA. Here is the murderer; and, Reason's man,
You have the warrant: sirs, lay hands on him;
Attach the slave, and lead him bound to death.

HUGH. No, by my faith, Master Brabo, you have the better heart, at
least you should have; I am sure you have more iron and steel than I
have; do you lay hands on him; I promise you I dare not.

BRA. Constables, forward; forwar