_Gan_. My plotts are layd most certayne & no fatte Can interposse betwixte theym: _Didier_ dyes And so shall _Richarde_. O the wearye thoughts That keepe a daylie senate in my braynes, Repeat unto me what I loathe to heare, A frends disloyaltye. Be wysser you That undertake the greate & hallowed leauge Of frendlye comforte. Scoole your ryotous bloode And teache your fancyes Wisdome; be not drawne With suche a frayle unproffytable thynge As face or person when you chusse a frende; Th'are all deceytfull. Would my funerall rytts Were as I wishe provyded, to dispeirse A warnynge by my horryble abuse, And I would dye to morrowe. I lament That such another pyttied foole as I Should be amongst the liveinge.--Harke! who knocks? [_Richard knocks_. Aunswere, what are you? _Rich_. Open to your frende. _Gan_. O my starrs, tys he! can myschiefe thus Come flyinge to my bossome?--Sir, I come To open twoe dores, thys & thy false bossome. [_Stabbs hym_. _Rich_. O y'ave slayne me! tell me, cruell Sir, Why you have doone thys that myne inocent soule May teache repentance to you-- [_Dies_. _Gan_. Speake it out. What, not a worde? dumbe with a littill blowe? You are growne statlye, are you? tys even so: You have the trycke of mightie men in courte To speake at leasure & pretend imployment. Well, take your tyme; tys not materyall Whether you speake the resydue behynde Nowe or at doomes day. If thy comon sence Be not yet parted from thee, understande I doe not cursse[100] thee dyinge, because once I loved thee dearlye; & collect by that There is no devyll in me nor in hell That could have flesht me to thys violent deathe, Hadst thou beene false to all the worlde but me.-- But he is nowe past thynkinge on for that, And were he buryed all were perfytted. [_Didier stepps out_. _Did_. What will you say if I become the sexton? _Gan_. That after that thou mayst hang thy selfe ithe bellropps. --What makst thou heare? _Did_. I will assuer you, Sir, No legge to your wise lordshypp for my life, Thyngs standinge as they doe. _Gan_. Verye good, Sir, Y'are wondrous merry. _Did_. Can you blame me, Sir, When I may treade upon myne enemye? I am your condemd creature, I am lost. _Gan_. ... ... ... ... ... Howe camst thou hyther? _Did_. Why, looke you, Sir, by thys, [_Shoes the key_. Thys that Ive kepte as a stronge cordyall Agaynst your vyllanyes. Nay, behould it well, For as I live tys counterfayte. _Gan_. What a leaden-skulld slave he maks me.-- Why, art thou doutfull of me? faythe I love thee. _Did_. Yes, as the devyll does freirs holye water. Come, I doe knowe your practyse gaynst my life, And ment my selfe t'have easd myne injuryes; But nowe thys act hathe given you to the lawe And saved me from all daunger.