hornes of shame and inhumanitie.
My thoughts, like hounds which late did flatter me
With hope of great succeeding benefits,
Now gin to teare my care-tormented heart
With feare of death and tortring punishment.
These are the stings whenas our consciences
Are stuf'd and clogd with close-concealed crimes.
Well, I must smoather all these discontentes,
And strive to beare a smoother countenaunce
Then rugged care would willingly permit.
Ile to the Court to see _Allenso_ free,
That he may then relieve my povertie.

[_Exit_.

[SCENE IX.]

_Enter Constable, three watchmen with halberdes_.

_Con_. Who would have thought of all the men alive
That _Thomas Merry_ would have done this deede
So full of ruth and monstrous wickednesse!

1 _wat_. Of all the men that live in _London_ walles,
I would have thought that _Merry_ had bin free.

2 _wat_. Is this the fruites of Saint-like Puritans?
I never like such damn'd hipocrisie.

3 _wat_. He would not loase a sermon for a pound,
An oath he thought would rend his iawes in twaine,
An idle word did whet Gods vengeance on;
And yet two murthers were not scripulous.
Such close illusions God will bring to light,
And overthrowe the workers with his might.

_Con_. This is the house; come let us knocke at dore;
I see a light, they are not all in bed:
[_Knockes; Rachell comes downe_.
How now, faire maide? is your brother up?

_Rach_. He's not within, sir; would you speake with him?

_Con_. You doe but iest; I know he is within,
And I must needes go uppe and speake with him.

_Rach_. In deede, good sir, he is in bed a sleepe,
And I was loath to trouble him to-night.

_Con_. Well, sister, I am sorry for your sake;
But for your brother, he is knowne to be
A damned villaine and an hipocrite.
_Rachell_, I charge thee in her highnesse name,
To go with us to prison presently.

_Rach_. To prison, sir? alas, what have I done?

_Con_. You know that best, but every one doe know
You and your brother murthered Maister _Beech_,
And his poore boy that dwelt at _Lambert hill_.

_Rach_. I murthered? my brother knowes that I,
Did not consent to either of their deathes.

_Con_. That must be tride; where doth your brother lye?

_Rach_. Here in his bed; me thinks he's not a sleepe.

_Con_. Now, Maister _Merry_, are you in a sweate?
[_Throwes his night cap away_.

_Merry sigh_. No verily, I a