Harke, _Rachell_, I will crosse the water straight
And fling this middle mention of a man
Into some ditch; then high me home againe,
To rid my house of that is left behinde.

_Rach_. Where have you laid the legs & battered head?

_Mer_. Under the fagots where it lay before.
Helpe me to put this trunk into the bag.

_Rach_. My heart will not endure to handle it,
The sight hereof doth make me quake for feare,

_Mer_. Ile do't my selfe; onely drie up the blood,
And burne the clothes as you have done before. [_Exit_.

_Rach_. I feare thy soule will burne in flames of hell,
Unless repentance wash wash away thy sinne
With clensing teares of true contrition.
Ah, did not nature oversway my will,
The world should know this plot of damned ill.

[_Exit_.



[SCENE II.]