_Hen_. I would not have her tall, because I love not To dance about a May pole; nor too lowe (Litle clocks goe seldome true); nor, sir, too fatt (Slug[51] shipps can keepe no pace); no, nor too leane, To read Anatomy lectures ore her Carcas. Nor would I have my wife exceeding faire, For then she's liquorish meate; & it would mad me To see whoremasters teeth water at her, Red haird by no meanes, though she would yeild money To sell her to some Jew for poyson. No, My wife shall be a globe terrestriall, Moving upon no axeltree but mine; Which globe when I turne round, what land soever I touch, my wife is with me, still Ime at home. _Ten_. But where will you find such a wife on earth? _Hen_. No, such a wife in the Moone for me doth tarry: If none such shine here I with none will marry. _Ten_. The Lordes are come. _Hen_. I care neyther for Lords nor Ladies. _Enter the Nobles as before; Fernando, Manuell, Clarke, Jaylor_. _Mac_. Where are these gentlemen? sett 'em both to a Barre And opposite, face to face: a Confrontation May perhaps daunt th'offender & draw from him More then he'de utter. You accuse your Brother As murtherer of your father: where's the proofe? _Hen_. First call my fathers man in. _Clark_. What's his name? _Hen_. _Buzzano_. _Clark_. Call _Buzzano_ in! _Enter Buzzano_. _Buz_. Here I am, here. _Clark_. Stand out: whither goe you? _Buz_. To stand out. _Clark_. Stand there. _Mac_. Now what can he say? _Hen_. First, my Lord, heare mee: My brother & I lying in one bed together, And he just under us-- _Buz_. In my fleabitten Trundle bed.[52] _Clark_. Peace, sirra. _Hen_. About midnight I awaking, And this _Buzzano_ too, my brother in his sleepe Thus cryde out, "Oh, twas I that murtherd him, This hand that killd him"! _Gyr_. Heard you this, sirra? _Buz_. As sure as I heare you now. _Alq_. And you'le be sworne 'twas he that so cryde out? _Buz_. If I were going to be hangd Ide sweare. _Clark_. Forbeare the Court. [_Exit Buzzano_. _Mac_. All this is but presumption: if this be all The shott you make against him your bullets stick In a mud wall, or if they meete resistance They backe rebound & fly in your owne face. _Med_. Bring your best forces up, for these are weak ones. _Hen_. Then here I throw my glove & challenge him To make this good upon him: that at comming home He first told me my father dyed in France, Then some hours after that he was not dead But that he left him in _Lorraine_ at _Nancy_, Then at _Chaalons_ in _Burgundy_, & lastly He said to _Don Fernando_ he was in _Paris_. _Fer_. He did indeed. _Mac_. What then? _Hen_. Then, when in's chamber we were going to bed, He suddenly lookd wild, catchd me by the hand And, falling on his knees, with a pale face And troubled conscience he confessed he killd him, Nay, swore he basely murtherd him. _Mac_. What say you to this? _Alq_. Now he comes close up to you.