e seeming semblances,
Of equall justice, and true pietie,
And lay my hearts corrupted Cytadell
Wide open to your thoughts to look into.
Know I am named _Fallerio_ to deceive
The world with shew of truth and honestie,
But yet nor truth, nor honestie abides
Within my thoughts, but falshood, crueltie,
Blood-sucking _Avarice_, and all the sinnes,
That hale men on to bloodie stratagems,
Like to your selves, which care not how you gaine,
By blood, extorcion, falshood, periurie,
So you may have a pleasing recompence: [_They start_.
Start not aside, depart not from your selves,
I know your composition is as mine,
Of bloud, extortion, falshood, periurie,
True-branded with the marke of wickednesse.

1 _Ruffin_. Be not so bitter; we are they indeede,
That would deprive our fathers of their lives,
So we were sure to have a benefit:
I way no more the murthring of a child,
Drag'd from the sucking bosome of his mother,
Then I respect to quaffe a boule of wine,
Unto his health, that dearely loveth me.

2 _Ruff_. Where golde rewardeth, were apparent death,
Before mine eyes, bolde, hartie, visible,
Ide wrastle with him for a deadly fall,
Or I would loose my guerdon promised.
Ide hang my brother for to wear his coate,
That all that saw me might have cause to say,
There is a hart more firme then Adamant,
To practise execrable butcheries.

_Fall_. I know that well, for were I not assur'd
Of your performance in this enterprice,
I would not ope the closet of my brest,
To let you know my close intention.
There is a little boy, an urchin lad,
That stands betweene me and the glorious rayes,
Of my soule-wishing sunne of happinesse.
There is a thicket ten miles from this place,
Whose secret ambush and unused wayes
Doth seeme to ioyne with our conspiracie:
There murther him, and when the deed is done,
Cast his dead body in some durtie ditch,
And leave him for the fowles to feed upon.
Do this, here is two hundreth markes in golde,
To harten on your resolution:
Two hundreth more, after the deed is done,
Ile pay you more for satisfaction.

1 _Ruff_. Swones her's rewards would make one kill himselfe,
To leave his progenie so rich a prize!
Were twentie lives engadged for this coine,
Ide end them all, to have the money mine.

2 _Ruff_. Who would not hazard life nay soule and all,
For such a franke and bounteous pay-maister?
Sblood! what labor is't to kill a boy?
It is but thus, and then the taske is done.
It grieves me most, t