Spencer. I know not, gentlemen, what your intents be, Nor do I fear, or care. This is my room; And if you bear you, as you seem in show, Like gentlemen, sit and be sociable. Carrol. We will.--[_to_ Bess.] Minx, by your leave. Remove, I say. Spencer. She shall not stir. Carrol. How, sir? Spencer. No, sir. Could you outface the devil, We do not fear your roaring.[2.13] Carrol. Though you may be companion with a drudge, It is not fit she should have place by us.-- About your business, housewife. Spencer. She is worthy The place as the best here, and she shall keep’t. Carrol. You lie. [_They draw and justle:_ Carrol _is slain_. Goodlack. The gentleman’s slain: away! Bess. O, Heaven! what have you done? Goodlack. Undone thyself, and me too. Come away. [_Exeunt_ Goodlack _and_ Spencer. Bess. Oh, sad misfortune! I shall lose him ever. What! are you men, or milksops? Stand you still, Senseless as stones, and see your friend in danger To expire his last? 1st Captain. Tush! all our help’s in vain. 2nd Captain. This is the fruit of whores; This mischief came through thee. Bess. It grew first from your incivility. 1st Captain. Lend me a hand, to lift his body hence. It was a fatal business. [_Exeunt the_ Captains, _bearing the body_. _Re-enter the two_ Drawers. 1st Drawer. One call my master, another fetch the constable. Here’s a man killed in the room. 2nd Drawer. How! a man killed, say’st thou? Is all paid? 1st Drawer. How fell they out, canst thou tell? 2nd Drawer. Sure, about this bold Bettrice.[2.14] ’Tis not so much for the death of the man, but how shall we come by our reckoning? [_Exeunt_ Drawers. Bess. What shall become of me? Of all lost creatures, The most infortunate! My innocence Hath been the cause of blood, and I am now Purpled with murder, though not within compass Of the law’s severe censure: but, which most Adds unto my affliction, I by this Have lost so worthy and approved a friend, Whom to redeem from exile, I would give All that’s without and in me. _Enter_ Fawcett. Fawcett. Your name’s Bess Bridges? Bess. An unfortunate maid, Known by that name too well in Plymouth, here. Your business, sir, with me? Fawcett. Know you this ring? Bess. I do: it is my Spencer’s. I know, withal, you are his trusty friend, To whom he would commit it. Speak: how fares he? Is he in freedom, know ye? Fawcett. He’s in health Of body, though in mind somewhat perplexed For this late mischief happened. Bess. Is he fled, And freed from danger? Fawcett. Neither. By this token He lovingly commends him to you, Bess, And prays you, when ’tis dark, meet him o’ th’ Hoe, Near to the new-made fort, where he’ll attend you, Before he flies, to take a kind farewell. There’s only Goodlack in his company: He entreats you not to fail him.