The world may see thou art the roote of ill,
For but for thee poore _Beech_ had lived still.

[_Exeunt_.




[ACT THE SECOND.]

[SCENE I.]


_Enter Rachell and Merry_.

_Rach_. Oh my deare brother, what a heap of woe,
Your rashnesse hath powrd downe upon your head!
Where shall we hide this trumpet of your shame,
This timelesse ougly map of crueltie?
Brother, if _Williams_ do reveale the truth,
Then brother, then, begins our sceane of ruthe.

_Mer_. I feare not _Williams_, but I feare the boy,
Who knew I fetcht his maister to my house.

_Rach_. What, doth the boy know whereabouts you dwell?

_Mer_. I, that tormentes me worse than panges of hell:--
He must be slaine to, else hele utter all.