_Mother._ Lend me that weapon that did kill my son, And it shall murder me. _Gov._ Nay, madam, stay; that weapon was my son's, And on that rather should Ferneze die. _Mother._ Hold, let's inquire the causers of their deaths, That we may 'venge their blood upon their heads. _Gov._ Then take them up, and let them be interred 30 Within one sacred monument of stone; Upon which altar[84] I will offer up My daily sacrifice of sighs and tears, And with my prayers pierce impartial[85] heavens, Till they [reveal] the causers of our smarts, Which forced their hands divide united hearts: Come, Katherine, our losses equal are, Then of true grief let us take equal share. [_Exeunt with the bodies_. SCENE III. _Enter_ ITHAMORE.[86] _Itha._ Why, was there ever seen such villainy, So neatly plotted, and so well performed? Both held in hand,[87] and flatly both beguiled? _Enter_ ABIGAIL. _Abig._ Why, how now, Ithamore, why laugh'st thou so? _Itha._ O mistress, ha! ha! ha! _Abig._ Why, what ail'st thou? _Itha._ O my master! _Abig._ Ha! _Itha._ O mistress! I have the bravest, gravest, secret, subtle, bottle-nosed knave to my master, that ever gentleman had. 11 _Abig._ Say, knave, why rail'st upon my father thus? _Itha._ O, my master has the bravest policy. _Abig._ Wherein? _Itha._ Why, know you not? _Abig._ Why, no. _Itha._ Know you not of Mathia[s'] and Don Lodowick['s] disaster? _Abig._ No, what was it? _Itha._ Why, the devil invented a challenge, my master writ it, and I carried it, first to Lodowick, and _imprimis_ to Mathia[s]. 22 And then they met, [and,] as the story says, In doleful wise they ended both their days. _Abig._ And was my father furtherer of their deaths? _Itha._ Am I Ithamore? _Abig._ Yes. _Itha._ So sure did your father write, and I carry the challenge. _Abig._ Well, Ithamore, let me request thee this, 30 Go to the new-made nunnery, and inquire For any of the Friars of St. Jaques,[88] And say, I pray them come and speak with me. _Itha._ I pray, mistress, will you answer me but one question? _Abig._ Well, sirrah, what is't? _Itha._ A very feeling one; have not the nuns fine sport with the friars now and then? _Abig._ Go to, sirrah sauce, is this your question? get ye gone. 40 _Itha._ I will, forsooth, mistress. [_Exit._