Nou. What meane you, sir? My people.
Rom. Your boye’s gone. (Lockes the doore. [160]
And doore’s lockt, yet for no hurt to you,
But priuacy: call vp your blood againe, sir,
Be not affraid, I do beseach you, sir,
(And therefore come) without, more circumstance
Tell me how farre the passages haue gone [165]
’Twixt you and your faire Mistresse Beaumelle,
Tell me the truth, and by my hope of Heauen
It neuer shall goe further.
Nou. Tell you why sir?
Are you my confessor?
Rom. I will be your confounder, if you doe not. (Drawes a pocket dag. [170]
Stirre not, nor spend your voyce.
Nou. What will you doe?
Rom. Nothing but lyne your brayne-pan, sir, with lead,
If you not satisfie me suddenly,
I am desperate of my life, and command yours.
Nou. Hold, hold, ile speake. I vow to heauen and you, [175]
Shee’s yet vntouch’t, more then her face and hands:
I cannot call her innocent; for I yeeld
On my sollicitous wrongs she consented
Where time and place met oportunity
To grant me all requests.
Rom. But may I build [180]
On this assurance?
Nou. As vpon your fayth.
Rom. Write this, sir, nay you must.