_Mosbie._ Enough, sweet Alice; thy kind words makes me melt. Your trick of poisoned pictures we dislike; Some other poison would do better far. 280 _Alice._ Ay, such as might be put into his broth, And yet in taste not to be found at all. _Clarke._ I know your mind, and here I have it for you. Put but a dram of this into his drink, Or any kind of broth that he shall eat, And he shall die within an hour after. _Alice._ As I am a gentlewoman, Clarke, next day Thou and Susan shall be married. _Mosbie._ And I’ll make her dowry more than I’ll talk of, Clarke. _Clarke._ Yonder’s your husband. Mosbie, I’ll be gone. 290 _Here enters Arden and Franklin._ _Alice._ In good time see where my husband comes. Master Mosbie, ask him the question yourself. [_Exit Clarke._ _Mosbie._ Master Arden, being at London yesternight, The Abbey lands, whereof you are now possessed, Were offered me on some occasion By Greene, one of Sir Antony Ager’s men: I pray you, sir, tell me, are not the lands yours? Hath any other interest herein? _Arden._ Mosbie, that question we’ll decide anon. Alice, make ready my breakfast, I must hence. 300 [_Exit Alice._ As for the lands, Mosbie, they are mine By letters patents from his Majesty. But I must have a mandate for my wife; They say you seek to rob me of her love: Villain, what makes thou in her company? She’s no companion for so base a groom. _Mosbie._ Arden, I thought not on her, I came to thee; But rather than I pocket up this wrong---- _Franklin._ What will you do, sir? _Mosbie._ Revenge it on the proudest of you both. 310 [_Then Arden draws forth Mosbie’s sword._ _Arden._ So, sirrah; you may not wear a sword, The statute makes against artificers; I warrant that I do. Now use your bodkin, Your Spanish needle, and your pressing iron, For this shall go with me; and mark my words, You goodman botcher, ’tis to you I speak: The next time that I take thee near my house, Instead of legs I’ll make thee crawl on stumps. _Mosbie._ Ah, Master Arden, you have injured me: I do appeal to God and to the world. 320 _Franklin._ Why, canst thou deny thou wert a botcher once? _Mosbie._ Measure me what I am, not what I was. _Arden._ Why, what art thou now but a velvet drudge, A cheating steward, and base-minded peasant? _Mosbie._ Arden, now thou hast belched and vomited The rancorous venom of thy mis-swoll’n heart, Hear me but speak: as I intend to live With God and his elected saints in heaven, I never meant more to solicit her; And that she knows, and all the world shall see. 330 I loved her once;--sweet Arden, pardon me, I could not choose, her beauty fired my heart! But time hath quenched these over-raging coals; And, Arden, though I now frequent thy house, ’Tis for my sister’s sake, her waiting-maid, And not for hers. Mayest thou enjoy her long: Hell-fire and wrathful vengeance light on me, If I dishonour her or injure thee.