Enter Young Freevill disguised like a pander, and Franceschina.
Free. By’r leave, gentles and men of nightcaps, I would
speak, but that here stands one is able to express her own tale best.
Fra. Sir, mine speech is to you; you had a son, matre Freevill?
Sir Lio. Had, ha! and have. 40
Fra. No point,[87] me am come to assure you dat one mestre Malheureux hath killed him.
Bea. O me! wretched, wretched!
Sir Hub. Look to our daughter.
Sir Lio. How art thou inform’d?
Fra. If dat it please you to go vid me, ick sall bring you where you sall hear Malheureux vid his own lips confess it, and dare ye may apprehend him, and revenge your and mine love’s blood.