A surgeon waits within.

WIFE.
Willing to leave it!
Tis guilty of sweet blood, innocent blood:
Murder has took this chamaber with full hands,
And will ne'er out as long as the house stands.

[Exeunt.]


SCENE VIII. A high road.

[Enter Husband as being thrown off his horse,
And falls.]


HUSBAND.
Oh stumbling Jade, the spavin overtake thee,
The fifty disease stop thee!
Oh, I am sorely bruisde; plague founder thee:
Thou runst at ease and pleasure. Hart of chance!
To Throw me now within a flight oth Town,
In such plain even ground, sfoot, a man
May dice up on't, and throw away the Meadows.
Filthy beast.

CRY WITHIN.
Follow, follow, follow.