_Alice._ Then, Master Greene, be counsellèd by me: 520 Indanger not yourself for such a churl, But hire some cutter for to cut him short, And here’s ten pound to wager them withal; When he is dead, you shall have twenty more, And the lands whereof my husband is possess’d Shall be intitled as they were before. _Greene._ Will you keep promise with me? _Alice._ Or count me false and perjured whilst I live. _Greene._ Then here’s my hand, I’ll have him so dispatched. I’ll up to London straight, I’ll thither post, 530 And never rest till I have compassed it. Till then farewell. _Alice._ Good fortune follow all your forward thoughts. [_Exit Greene._ And whosoever doth attempt the deed, A happy hand I wish, and so farewell.-- All this goes well: Mosbie, I long for thee To let thee know all that I have contrived. _Here enters Mosbie and Clarke._ _Mosbie._ How, now, Alice, what’s the news? _Alice._ Such as will content thee well, sweetheart. _Mosbie._ Well, let them pass a while, and tell me, Alice, How have you dealt and tempered with my sister? What, will she have my neighbour Clarke, or no? _Alice._ What, Master Mosbie! let him woo himself! Think you that maids look not for fair words? Go to her, Clarke; she’s all alone within; Michael my man is clean out of her books. _Clarke._ I thank you, Mistress Arden, I will in; And if fair Susan and I can make a gree, You shall command me to the uttermost, As far as either goods or life may stretch. 550 [_Exit Clarke._ _Mosbie._ Now, Alice, let’s hear thy news. _Alice._ They be so good that I must laugh for joy, Before I can begin to tell my tale. _Mosbie._ Let’s hear them, that I may laugh for company. _Alice._ This morning, Master Greene, Dick Greene I mean, From whom my husband had the Abbey land, Came hither, railing, for to know the truth Whether my husband had the lands by grant. I told him all, whereat he stormed amain And swore he would cry quittance with the churl, 560 And, if he did deny his interest, Stab him, whatsoever did befall himself. Whenas I saw his choler thus to rise, I whetted on the gentleman with words; And, to conclude, Mosbie, at last we grew To composition for my husband’s death. I gave him ten pound for to hire knaves, By some device to make away the churl; When he is dead, he should have twenty more And repossess his former lands again. 570 On this we ’greed, and he is ridden straight To London, for to bring his death about. _Mosbie._ But call you this good news? _Alice._ Ay, sweetheart, be they not?