[Enter Gaoler, bringing in Lady Old-castle and Harpoole.] Here comes my lady: sorrow, tis for her Thy wound is grievous; else I scoff at thee. What, and poor Harpoole! art thou ith bryars too? HARPOOLE. Ifaith, my Lord, I am in, get out how I can. LADY COBHAM. Say, gentle Lord, for now we are alone, And may confer, shall we confess in brief, Of whence, and what we are, and so prevent The accusation is commenced against us? COBHAM. What will that help us? being known, sweet love, We shall for heresy be put to death, For so they term the religion we profess. No, if it be ordained we must die, And at this instant, this our comfort be, That of the guilt imposed, our souls are free. HARPOOLE. Yea, yea, my lord, Harpoole is so resolved. I wreak of death the less, in that I die Not by the sentence of that envious priest The Bishop of Rochester: oh, were it he, Or by his means that I should suffer here, It would be double torment to my soul. LADY COBHAM. Well, be it then according as heaven please. [Enter lord Judge, two Justices, Mayor of Saint Albans, lord Powesse and his lady, and old sir Richard Lee: the Judge and Justices take their places.] JUDGE. Now, Master Mayor, what gentleman is that, You bring with you before us and the bench? MAYOR. The Lord Powis, if it like your honor, And this his Lady, travelling toward Wales, Who, for they lodged last night within my house, And my Lord Bishop did lay search for such, Were very willing to come on with me, Lest for their sakes suspicion me might wrong. JUDGE. We cry your honor mercy, good my Lord, Wilt please ye take your place. Madame, your ladyship May here or where you will repose your self, Until this business now in hand be past. LADY POWIS. I will withdraw into some other room, So that your Lordship and the rest be pleased. JUDGE. With all our hearts: attend the Lady there. LORD POWIS. Wife, I have eyed yond prisoners all this while, And my conceit doth tell me, tis our friend, The noble Cobham, and his virtuous Lady. LADY POWIS. I think no less: are they suspected, trow ye, For doing of this murder? LORD POWIS. What is means I cannot tell, but we shall know anon. Mean space as you pass by them, ask the question, But do it secretly, you be not seen, And make some sign that I may know your mind. LADY POWIS. My Lord Cobham? madam? [As she passeth over the stage by them.] COBHAM. No Cobham now, nor madam, as you love us, But John of Lancashire, and Ione his wife. LADY POWIS. Oh tell, what is it that our love can do, To pleasure you? for we are bound to you. COBHAM. Nothing but this, that you conceal our names; So, gentle lady, pass for being spied. LADY POWIS. My heart I leave, to bear part of your grief. [Exit.] JUDGE. Call the prisoners to the bar. Sir Richard Lee, What evidence can you bring against these people, To prove them guilty of the murder done?