odigious;
The very thought of it hath put a cricke
Into my necke allredy.

_D'Av_. One further desperate tryall I will make
And putt it too adventer.

_Denis_. Pray hows that, Syr?

_D'Av_. There's in my stable an ould stallion, once
A lusty horse but now past servyce.

_Denis_. Godd [_sic_], syr.

_D'Av_. Him I'l have sadled and capparisond.
Heare in the hall a rusty Armor hanges,
Pistolls in rotten cases, an ould sword,
And a cast lance to all these sutable.
I'l have them instantly tooke downe.

_Den_. And then?

_D'Av_. In these I'l arme the fryar from head to knee;
Mount him into his saddle, with stronge cords
There bind him fast, and to his gauntlet hand
Fasten his lance; for basses[144] tis no matter,
These his grey skyrts will serve. Thus arm'd, thus mounted,
And thus accoutred, with his beiver upp,
Turne him out of the gates, neither attended
With squire or page, lyke a stronge knight adventures
To seeke a desperate fortune.

_Denis_. Hee may so if hee please
Ryde post unto the Devill.

_D'Av_. This I'l see doone,
'Tis a decree determinde.

_Denis_. Capp a pe
I'l see him arm'd and mounted.

[_Exeunt_.

_Enter Fryar Richard_.

_Fr. R_. This murder canott bee so smothered upp
But I in th'end shall paye for't; but feare still
Is wittye in prevention. Nowe for instance
There's but one refuge left mee, that's to flye:
The gates are shutt upon mee and myself
Am a badd foottman, yet these difficultyes
I can thus helpe; there to this place beelonges
A mare that every second d[a]yes' imployde
To carry corne and fetch meele from the mill,
Distant som half league off; I by this beast
Will fashion myne escape.--What, baker, ho!

_Within Baker_. What's hee that calls so early?

_Fr. R_. I, Fryar _Richard_.

_Baker_. What would you have that you are stirringe thus
An hower before the Dawne.

_Fr. Rich_. I cannott sleepe
And understandinge there's meale redy ground,
Which thou must fetch this morninge from the mill,
I'l save thee so much pey[n]es. Lend mee the beast,
And lett mee forthe the gate; I'l bringe boathe back
Ere the bell ringe for mattens.

_Baker_. Marry, Fryar _Richard_,
With all my hart, and thanke yee. I'l but ryse
And halter her, then lett you forthe the gate;
You'l save mee so much labour.

_Fr. Rich_. This falls out
As I coold wishe, and in a fortunate hower;
For better then to too legges trust to fower.

_Explicit Actus 4_.

_Act_ 5.