_Ver._ Oh, sir! you're welcome home; but here is the saddest news! here has been murder committed, sir. _Sir Dav._ Hold your tongue, you fool, and go to sleep; get you in, do you hear? you talk of murder, you rogue? you meddle with state affairs? get you in. [_Exit._ SCENE III.--_The Entrance Hall in the same._ Sir JOLLY JUMBLE _and_ Lady DUNCE _discovered putting_ BEAUGARD _in order, as if he were dead_. _Sir Jol._ Lie still, lie still, you knave, close, close, when I bid you: you had best quest,[46] and spoil the sport, you had! _Beau._ But pray how long must I lie thus? _L. Dunce._ I'll warrant you you'll think the time mighty tedious. _Beau._ Sweet creature, who can counterfeit death when you are near him? _Sir Jol._ You shall, sirrah, if a body desires you a little, so you shall; we shall spoil all else, all will be spoiled else, man, if you do not: stretch out longer, longer yet, as long as ever you can. So, so, hold your breath, hold your breath; very well. _Enter_ Maid. _Maid._ Madam, here comes Sir Davy. _Sir Jol._ Odds so, now close again as I told you, close, you devil; now stir if you dare; stir but any part about you if you dare now; odd, I'll hit you such a rap if you do! Lie still, lie you still. _Enter_ Sir DAVY DUNCE. _Sir Dav._ My dear, how dost thou do, my dear? I am come. _L. Dunce._ Ah, sir, what is't you've done? you've ruined me; your family, your fortune, all is ruined; where shall we go, or whither shall we fly? _Sir Dav._ Where shall we go! why, we'll go to bed, you little jackadandy: why, you are not a wench, you rogue, you are a boy, a very boy, and I love you the better for't: sirrah, hey! _L. Dunce._ Ah, sir, see there. _Sir Dav._ Bless us! a man! and bloody! what, upon my hall-table! _L. Dunce._ Two ruffians brought him in just now, pronouncing the inhuman deed was done by your command: Sir Jolly came in the same minute, or sure I had died with my distracting fears. How could you think on a revenge so horrid? _Sir Dav._ As I hope to be saved, neighbour, I only bargained with them to bastinado him in a way, or so, as one friend might do to another: but do you say that he is dead? _Sir Jol._ Dead, dead as clay; stark stiff and useless all, nothing about him stirring, but all's cold and still. I knew him a lusty fellow once, a very mettled fellow; 'tis a thousand pities! _Sir Dav._ What shall I do? I'll throw myself upon him, kiss his wide wounds, and weep till blind as buzzard. _L. Dunce._ Oh, come not near him; there's such horrid antipathy follows all murders, his wounds would stream afresh should you but touch him.[47]