Mat. Be murthered all, but save him.
Ed. Murther, murther.
Rol. Cannot I reach you yet?
Ot. No, fiend.
Rol. Latorch, rescue, I'me down.
Lat. Up then, your sword cools Sir,
Ply it i'th' flame, and work your ends out.
Rol. Ha, have at [you] there Sir.
Enter Aubrey.
Aub. Author of prodigies, what sights are these?
Ot. Oh give me a weapon, Aubrey.