en he please,
Send death unto the troubled--a blest ease.

[_Exit with children_.

BUT. In troth I know not, if it be good or ill,
That with this endless toil I labour thus:
'Tis but the old time's ancient conscience
That would do no man hurt, that makes me do't:
If it be sin, that I do pity these,
If it be sin, I have relieved his brothers,
Have played the thief with them to get their food,
And made a luckless marriage for his sister,
Intended for her good, heaven pardon me.
But if so, I am sure they are great sinners,
That made this match, and were unhappy[432] men;
For they caus'd all, and may heaven pardon them.

_Enter_ SIR WILLIAM SCARBOROW.

SIR WIL. Who's within here?

BUT. Sir William, kindly welcome.

SIR WIL. Where is my kinsman Scarborow?

BUT. Sooth, he's within, sir, but not very well.

SIR WIL. His sickness?

BUT. The hell of sickness; troubled in his mind.

SIR WIL. I guess the cause of it,
But cannot now intend to visit him.
Great business for my sovereign hastes me hence;
Only this letter from his lord and guardian to him,
Whose inside, I do guess, tends to his good;
At my return I'll see him: so farewell. [_Exit_.

BUT. _Whose inside, I do guess, turns to his good_.
He shall not see it now, then; for men's minds,
Perplex'd like his, are like land-troubling-winds,
Who have no gracious temper.

_Enter_ JOHN SCARBOROW.

JOHN. O butler!

BUT. What's the fright now?

JOHN. Help, straight, or on the tree of shame
We both shall perish for the robbery.

BUT. What, is't reveal'd, man?

JOHN. Not yet, good butler: only my brother Thomas,
In spleen to me that would not suffer him
To kill our elder brother had undone us,
Is riding now to Sir John Harcop straight,
To disclose it.

BUT. Heart! who would rob with sucklings?
Where did you leave him?

JOHN. Now taking horse to ride to Yorkshire.

BUT. I'll stay his journey, lest I meet a hanging.

[_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ SCARBOROW.

SCAR. I'll parley with the devil: ay, I will,
He gives his counsel freely, and the cause
He for his clients pleads goes always with them:
He in my cause shall deal then; and I'll ask him
Whether a cormorant may have stuff'd chests,
And see his brother starve? why, he'll say, ay[433],
The less they give, the more I gain thereby;

_Enter_ BUTLER.

Their souls, their souls, their souls.
How now, master? nay, you ar