LEE. Oh devilish! can you boast unto your selves Of quiet sleep, having within your hearts The guilt of murder waking, that with cries Deafs the loud thunder, and solicits heaven With more than Mandrake’s shrieks for your offence? LADY COBHAM. What murder? you upbraid us wrongfully. LEE. Can you deny the fact? see you not here The body of my son by you mis-done? Look on his wounds, look on his purple hue: Do we not find you where the deed was done? Were not your knives fast closed in your hands? Is not this cloth an argument beside, Thus stained and spotted with his innocent blood? These speaking characters, were nothing else To plead against ye, would convict you both. Bring them away, bereavers of my joy. At Hartford, where the Sizes now are kept, Their lives shall answer for my son’s lost life. COBHAM. As we are innocent, so may we speed. LEE. As I am wronged, so may the law proceed. [Exeunt.] ACT V. SCENE IX. St. Albans. [Enter bishop of Rochester, constable of St. Albans, with sir John of Wrotham, Doll his wench, and the Irishman in Harpoole’s apparel.] BISHOP. What intricate confusion have we here? Not two hours since we apprehended one, In habit Irish, but in speech not so: And now you bring another, that in speech Is altogether Irish, but in habit Seems to be English: yea and more than so, The servant of that heretic Lord Cobham. IRISHMAN. Fait, me be no servant of the lord Cobham, Me be Mack Chane of Vister. BISHOP. Otherwise called Harpoole of Kent; go to, sir, You cannot blind us with your broken Irish. SIR JOHN. Trust me, my Lord Bishop, whether Irish, Or English, Harpoole or not Harpoole, that I leave to be decided by the trial: But sure I am this man by face and speech Is he that murdered young sir Richard Lee— I met him presently upon the fact— And that he slew his master for that gold; Those jewels, and that chain I took from him. BISHOP. Well, our affairs do call us back to London, So that we cannot prosecute the cause, As we desire to do; therefore we leave The charge with you, to see they be conveyed To Hartford Sise: both this counterfeit And you, sir John of Wrotham, and your wench, For you are culpable as well as they, Though not for murder, yet for felony. But since you are the means to bring to light This graceless murder, you shall bear with you Our letters to the Judges of the bench, To be your friends in what they lawful may. BISHOP. So, away with them. [Exeunt.] ACT V. SCENE X. Hertford. A Hall of Justice. [Enter Gaoler and his man, bringing forth Old-castle.] GAOLER. Bring forth the prisoners, see the court prepared; The Justices are coming to the bench. So, let him stand; away, and fetch the rest. [Exeunt.] COBHAM. Oh, give me patience to endure this scourge, Thou that art fountain of that virtuous stream, And though contempt, false witness, and reproach Hang on these iron gyves, to press my life As low as earth, yet strengthen me with faith, That I may mount in spirit above the clouds.