re [_sic_] me speake, before you murther me.

2 _mu_. Feare not, sweet child, he shall not murther thee.

1 _mu_. No, but my sword shall let his puddings forth.

_Per_. First here me speake, thou map of Butcherie:
Tis but my goods and lands my Unckle seekes;
Having that safely, he desires no more.
I do protest by my dead parents soules,
By the deare love of false _Fallerios_ sonne,
Whose heart, my heart assures me, will be griev'd
To heare his fathers inhumanitie,
I will forsake my countrie, goods, and lands,
I, and my selfe will even change my selfe,
In name, in life, in habit, and in all,
And live in some farre-moved continent,
So you will spare my weake and tender youth,
Which cannot entertaine the stroake of death
In budding yeares and verie spring of life.

1 _Mur_. Leave of these bootlesse protestations,
And use no ruth-enticing argumentes,
For if you do, ile lop you lim by lim,
And torture you for childish eloquence.

2 _Mur_. Thou shalt not make his little finger ake.

1 _Mur_. Yes, every part, and this shall proove it true.
[_Runnes Perillo in with his sworde_.

_Per_. Oh I am slaine, the Lord forgive thy fact!
And give thee grace to dye with penitence. [_Dyeth_.

2 _Mur_. A treacherous villaine, full of cowardise!
Ile make thee know that thou hast done amisse.

1 _m_. Teach me that knowledge when you will or dare.

[_They fight and kill one another; the relenter
having some more life, and the other dyeth_.

1 _mur_. Swoones, I am peppered, I had need have salt,
Or else to morrow I shall yeeld a stincke,
Worse then a heape of dirty excrements.
Now by this Hilt, this golde was earn'd too deare:
Ah, how now death, wilt thou be conquerour?
Then vengeance light on them that made me so,
And ther's another farewell ere I goe.
[_Stab the other murtherer againe_.

2 _mur_. Enough, enough, I had my death before.

[_A hunt within_.

_Enter the Duke of Padua, Turqualo, Vesuvio, Alberto, &c_.

_Duke_. How now my Lords, was't not a gallant course,
Beleeve me sirs, I never saw a wretch,
Make better shift to save her little life.
The thickets full of buskes,[24] and scratching bryers,
A mightie dewe,[25] a many deepe mouth'd hounds,
Let loose in every place to crosse their course,--
And yet the Hare got cleanly from them all.
I would not for a hundred pound in faith,
But that she had escaped with her life;
For we wi