2 _Mur_. No Child, thy wicked Unckle hath suborn'd Both him and me to take thy life away, Which I would save, but that this hellish impe Will not content to spare thy guiltlesse blood. _Per_. Why should _Falleria_ seeke to have my life? 2 _mur_. The lands and goods, thy father left his sonne, Do hale thee on to thy destruction. _Per_. Oh needy treasure, harme-begetting good! That safety[23] should procure the losse of blood! 2 _mur_. Those lands and goods, thy father got with paine, Are swords wherewith his little sonne is slaine. 1 _mu_. Then let our swords let out his guiltlesse life. _Per_. Sweete, sowre, kinde, cruell, hold thy murthering knife, And here [_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_.