Baker_. This noyse hath cal'd much people from there bedds,
And troobled the whole villadge.

_Fr. R_. (_within_). Hold, hold, I do confesse the murder.

_Baker_. Suer hee hath slayne him, for murder is confest.

_D'Av_. Tis better still.

_Enter Ashburne, Godfrey, &c_.

_Godf_. Was never knowne the lyke!

_Baker_. Is _Ritchard_ slayne?
I sawe Fryar _Jhon_, arm'd dreadfully with weapons
Not to be worne in peace, pursue his lyfe;
All which I'l tell the abbott.
[_Exit Baker_.

_Ashb_. Most strange it is that the pursude is fownd
To bee the murderer, the pursuer slayne.
Howe was it, _Godfrey_? thou wast upp beefore mee
And canst discoorse it best.

_Godfr_. Thus, Syr: at noyse of murder, with the tramplinge
Of horse and ratlinge armor in the streetes,
The villadgers weare wakend from there sleepes;
Som gap't out of there windowes, others venter'd
Out of theere doores; amongst which I was one
That was the foremost, and saw _Ritchard_ stopt
At a turninge lane, then overtooke by _Jhon_;
Who not him self alone, but even his horse
Backing the tother's beast, seemd with his feete
To pawe him from his saddle; att this assault
Friar _Richard_ cryes, hold, hold and haunt mee not
For I confesse the murder! folke came in
Fownd th'one i'th sadle dead, the t'other sprallinge
Upon the earthe alyve, still cryinge out
That hee had doun the murder.

_D'Av_. Exellent still; withdrawe, for wee are saffe.

_Enter the Abbott, the baker, Fryar Richard, prisoner
and guarded, &c_.[149]--

_Abbott_. These mischeefes I foretould; what's mallyce elsse
Than murder halff comitted? though th'event
Bee allmost above apprehension strange,
Yet synce thyne owne confession pleades thee guilty
Thou shalt have leagall tryall.

_Fr. Rich_. I confess
I was the malefactor and deserve
Th'extremity of Lawe; but woonder much
Howe hee in such a short tyme after death
Should purchase horse and weapons.

_Abbot_. Murder's a sinne
Which often is myraculously reveal'd.
Lett justyce question that; beare him to prison,
The t'other to his grave.

_Baker_. Beeinge so valiant after deathe mee thinkes hee deserves the
honor to bee buried lyke a knight in his compleate armor.

_Abbot_. These thinges shoold not bee trifled. Honest frendes,
Retyre you to your homes; these are our chardge.
Wee will acquaint our patron with this sadd
And dyre desaster; fyrst his counsell use,
Next as wee maye our Inno