not endure to handle it,
The sight hereof doth make me quake for feare,

_Mer_. Ile do't my selfe; onely drie up the blood,
And burne the clothes as you have done before. [_Exit_.

_Rach_. I feare thy soule will burne in flames of hell,
Unless repentance wash wash away thy sinne
With clensing teares of true contrition.
Ah, did not nature oversway my will,
The world should know this plot of damned ill.

[_Exit_.

[SCENE II.]

_Enter two Murtherers with Pertillo_.

_Per_. I am so wearie in this combrous wood,
That I must needes go sit me downe and rest.

1 _Mur_. What were we best? to kill him unawares,
Or give him notice what we doe intend?

2 _Mur_. Whie then belike you meane to do your charge,
And feel no tast of pittie in your hart.

1 _Mur_. Of pittie, man! that never enters heere,
And if it should, Ide threat my craven heart
To stab it home for harbouring such a thought.
I see no reason whie I should relent;
It is a charitable vertuous deede,
To end this princkocke[19] from this sinfull world.

2 _Mur_. Such charitie will never have reward,
Unlesse it be with sting of conscience;
And thats a torment worse than Sisipus,
That rowles a restlesse stone against the hill.

1 _Mur_. My conscience is not prickt with such conceit.

2 _Mur_. That shews thee further off from hoped grace.

1 _Mur_. Grace me no graces, I respect no grace,
But with a grace, to give a gracelesse stab;
To chop folkes legges and armes off by the stumpes,
To see what shift theile make to scramble home;
Pick out mens eyes, and tell them thats the sport
Of hood-man-blinde, without all sportivenesse.
If with a grace I can perform such pranckes,
My hart will give mine agents many thankes.

2 _Mur_. Then God forbid I should consort my selfe
With one so far from grace and pietie,
Least being found within thy companie,
I should be partner of thy punishment.

1 _Mur_. When wee have done what we have vowed to do,
My hart desires to have no fellowship
With those that talk of grace or godlinesse.
I nam'd not God, unleast twere with an othe,
Sence the first hour that I could walk alone;
And you that make so much of conscience,
By heaven thou art a damned hipocrite,
For thou hast vow'd to kill that sleeping boy,
And all to gaine two hundreth markes in gold.
I know this purenesse comes of pure deceit,
To draw me from from the murthering of the child,
That you alone might have the be