with my daggers poynte
And never make thys parley; but I'me kynde,
And youle confes it when you reade that letter.
You knowe the charackter & the whole scope
Ere you peruse one worde, I make no questyon.
But reade it, doe, that whyle you seeme to reede
You may make readye for another worlde.
Why doe you studye? flatter not your selfe
With hope of an excusse.

_Gab_. You are not madd!

_Gan_. Yes, foorsoothe,
I will confes my selfe emptye of sence,
Dealinge with suche a wyttie sparke as you.
Theres no comparysson: a sparke, sayd I?
I meant a bonefyer made of wytt & lust;
One nourryshes another. Have you doone?
Does any thynge you reade allay your coldnes.

_Gab_. You thynke thys letter myne?

_Gan_. I doe indeede,
And will with horror to thy wanton thoughts
Make thee confes it, that thy soule beinge easd
May fly away the sooner.

_Gab_. What you--

_Gan_. Fond woman, doe not trust me, there is deathe
And undyssembld ruyne in my words.
Make your prayrs quycklye.

_Gab_. I protest unto you,
As I have contyence & a soule to save--

_Gan_. That's a fantastycke oathe; proceede, proceede.

_Gab_. I did not wryte thys letter nor have seene
_Richard_ synce it was wrytten: what was doone
He & my mother wrought it.

_Gan_. Shall I beleive you? are you vertuous?

_Gab_. Examyne but the ende & then adjudge me.

_Gan_. Then my suspytyon proves a false conceyte,
And I am wondrous glad to have it so
Because it proves you honest. I am nowe
Agayne resolvd that _Richard_ was a vyllayne,
And therefore am I gladd agayne, because
He hathe what he deservd & has no more.

_Gab_. He did deserve your seryous contempt
And is rewarded with it.

_Gan_. And with deathe.

_Gab_. Ha! oh is he murderd then?

_Gan_. Does that amaze you?
Yes I have murderd hym & it becomes
The gloryous parte of conquerynge my selfe,
To say hereafter, when I would relate
A storye worth attentyon, that thys hande,
Thys constant ryght hand, did deliver me
In spyghte of dottage & my naturall pittye.

_Gab_. O you are falne into the bloodyest cryme
That ever tyrant threatned.

_Gan_. Idle feare.

_Gab_. Come, y'are a vyllayne & most bloodye slave,
One that your spotted synns make odyous,
For _Rychard_ was all good & vertuous.
Dispayre nowe maks me honest & Ile speake
Truthe with true testymonye, for here it comes.

_Enter Eldegrade_.

We twoe contryved & wrytt these charracters,
By Heaven we did; twas onlye we that spreade
Th