_Mosbie._ There’s for the pressing iron you told me of. [_Stabs him._ _Shakebag._ And there’s for the ten pound in my sleeve. [_Stabs him._ _Alice._ What! groans thou? nay, then give me the weapon! Take this for hindering Mosbie’s love and mine. [_She stabs him._ _Michael._ O, mistress! _Will._ Ah, that villain will betray us all. _Mosbie._ Tush, fear him not; he will be secret. _Michael._ Why, dost thou think I will betray myself? _Shakebag._ In Southwark dwells a bonny northern lass, The widow Chambly; I’ll to her house now, 250 And if she will not give me harborough, I’ll make booty of the quean even to her smock. _Will._ Shift for yourselves; we two will leave you now. _Alice._ First lay the body in the counting-house. [_Then they lay the body in the Counting-house._ _Will._ We have our gold; Mistress Alice, adieu; Mosbie, farewell, and Michael, farewell too. [_Exeunt._ _Enter Susan._ _Susan._ Mistress, the guests are at the doors. Hearken, they knock: what, shall I let them in? _Alice._ Mosbie, go thou and bear them company. [_Exit Mosbie._ And, Susan, fetch water and wash away this blood. _Susan._ The blood cleaveth to the ground and will not out. 261 _Alice._ But with my nails I’ll scrape away the blood;-- The more I strive, the more the blood appears! _Susan._ What’s the reason, Mistress, can you tell? _Alice._ Because I blush not at my husband’s death. _Here enters Mosbie._ _Mosbie._ How now? what’s the matter? is all well? _Alice._ Ay, well, if Arden were alive again. In vain we strive, for here his blood remains. _Mosbie._ Why, strew rushes on it, can you not? This wench doth nothing: fall unto the work. 270 _Alice._ ’Twas thou that made me murder him. _Mosbie._ What of that? _Alice._ Nay, nothing, Mosbie, so it be not known. _Mosbie._ Keep thou it close, and ’tis unpossible. _Alice._ Ah, but I cannot! was he not slain by me? My husband’s death torments me at the heart. _Mosbie._ It shall not long torment thee, gentle Alice; I am thy husband, think no more of him. _Here enters Adam Fowle and Bradshaw._ _Bradshaw._ How now, Mistress Arden? what ail you weep? _Mosbie._ Because her husband is abroad so late. 280 A couple of ruffians threatened him yesternight, And she, poor soul, is afraid he should be hurt. _Adam._ Is’t nothing else? tush, he’ll be here anon. _Here enters Greene._ _Greene._ Now, Mistress Arden, lack you any guests? _Alice._ Ah, Master Greene, did you see my husband lately? _Greene._ I saw him walking behind the Abbey even now. _Here enters Franklin._ _Alice._ I do not like this being out so late.-- Master Franklin, where did you leave my husband? _Franklin._ Believe me I saw him not since morning. Fear you not, he’ll come anon; meantime 290 You may do well to bid his guests sit down. _Alice._ Ay, so they shall; Master Bradshaw, sit you there; I pray you, be content, I’ll have my will. Master Mosbie, sit you in my husband’s seat.