_Allen_. Forbeare awhile to beare away my joy, Which now is vanisht since his life is fled; And give me leave to wash his deadly wound With hartie teares, outflowing from those eyes Which lov'd his sight, more then the sight of heaven. Forgive me God for this idolatrie! Thou ugly monster, grim imperious death, Thou raw-bonde lumpe of foule deformitie, Reguardlesse instrument of cruell fate, Unparciall Sergeant, full of treacherie, Why didst thou flatter my ill-boding thoughts, And flesh my hopes with vaine illusions? Why didst thou say, _Pertillo_ should not dye, And yet, oh yet, hast done it cruelly? Oh but beholde, with what a smiling cheere, He intertain'd thy bloody harbinger! See, thou transformer of a heavenly face To Ashie palenesse and unpleasing lookes, That his fair countenance still retaineth grace Of perfect beauty in the very grave. The world would say such beauty should not dye; Yet like a theefe thou didst it cruelly. Ah, had thy eyes, deepe-sunke into thy head, Beene able to perceive his vertuous minde, Where vertue sat inthroned in a chaire, With awfull grace and pleasing maiestie, Thou wouldest not then have let _Pertillo_ die, Nor like a theefe have slaine him cruellie. Inevitable fates, could you devise, No means to bring me to this pilgrimage, Full of great woes and sad calamities, But that the father should be principall, To plot the present downfall of the sonne? Come then kind death and give me leave to die, Since thou hast slaine _Pertillo_ cruellie. _Du_. Forbeare, _Allenso_; hearken to my doome, Which doth concerne thy fathers apprehension. First we enjoyne thee, upon paine of death, To give no succour to thy wicked sire, But let him perrish in his damned sinne, And pay the price of such a treacherie. See that with speede the monster be attach'd, And bring him safe to suffer punishment. Prevent it not, nor seeke not to delude The Officers to whom this charge is given; For if thou doe, as sure as God doth live, Thy selfe shall satisfie the lawes contempt. Therefore forward about this punishment. [_Exeunt omnes: manet Allenso_. _Al_. Thankes, gratious God, that thou hast left the meanes To end my soule from this perplexitie. Not succour him on paine of present death! That is no paine; death is a welcome guest To those whose hearts are overwhelm'd with griefe. My woes are done, I having leave to die And after death live ever joyfullie. [_Exit_. _Enter Murther and Covetousnesse_. _Mur_. Now, _Avarice_, I have well satisfied My hungrie thoughtes with blood and crueltie; Now all my melanchollie discontent Is shaken off, and I am throughlie pleas'd, With what thy pollicie hath brought to passe. Yet am I not so throughlie satisfied Untill I bring the purple actors forth. And cause them quaffe a bowle of bitternesse, That father sonne, and sister brother may Bring to their deathes with most assur'd decay.