_Ava_. That wilbe done without all question, For thou hast slaine _Allenso_ with the boy, And _Rachell_ doth not wish to overlive The sad remembrance of her brothers sinne. Leave faithfull love to teach them how to dye, That they may share their kinsfolkes miserie. [_Exeunt_. [ACT THE FOURTH.] [SCENE I.] _Enter Merrie and Rachell uncovering the head and legges_. _Mer_. I have bestow'd a watrie funerall On the halfe bodie of my butchered friend. The head and legges Ile leave in some darke place; I care not if they finde them yea or no. _Ra_. Where do you meane to leave the head and legs? _Mer_. In some darke place nere to _Bainardes Castle_.[31] _Ra_. But doe it closelie that you be not seene; For all this while you are without suspect. _Mer_. Take you no thought, Ile have a care of that; Onelie take heede you have a speciall care To make no shew of any discontent Nor use too many words to any one. [_Puts on his Cloake; taketh up the bag_. I will returne when I have left my loade. Be merrie, _Rachell_; halfe the feare is past. [_Exit_. _Ra_. But I shall never thinke my selfe secure. This deede would trouble any quiet soule, To thinke thereof, much more to see it done; Such cruell deedes can never long be hid, Although we practice nere so cunningly. Let others open what I doe conceale; Lo he is my brother, I will cover it, And rather dye than have it spoken rife,-- Lo where she goes, betrai'd her brothers life. [_Exit_. [SCENE II.] _Enter Williams and Cowley_. _Co_. Why, how now, _Harry_, what should be the cause, That you are growne so discontent of late? Your sighes do shew some inward heavinesse; Your heavy lookes, your eyes brimfull of teares, Beares testimonie of some secret griefe. Reveale it, _Harry_; I will be thy friend, And helpe thee to my poore habillity. _Wil_. If I am heavie, if I often sigh, And if my eyes beare recordes of my woe, Condemne me not, for I have mightie cause, More then I will impart to any one. _Co_. Do you misdoubt me, that you dare not tell That woe to me that moves your discontent? _Wil_. Good Maister _Cowley_, you were ever kinde, But pardon me; I will not utter it To any one, for I have past my worde; And therefore urge me not to tell my griefe. _Cow_. But those that smother griefe too secretly, May wast themselves in silent anguishment, And bring their bodies to so low an ebb, That all the world can never make it flowe, Unto the happy hight of former health. Then be not [so] iniurious to thy selfe, To wast thy strength in lamentation, But tell thy case; wele seeke some remedie. _Wil_. My cause of griefe is now remedilesse, And all the world can never lessen it; Then since no meanes can make my sorrowes lesse, Suffer me waile a woe which wants redresse. _Cow_. Yet let me beare a part in thy lamentes, I love thee not so ill but I will mone Thy heavie haps; thou shalt not sigh alone.