Abbott. These mischeefes I foretould; what's mallyce elsse
Than murder halff comitted? though th'event
Bee allmost above apprehension strange,
Yet synce thyne owne confession pleades thee guilty
Thou shalt have leagall tryall.
Fr. Rich. I confess
I was the malefactor and deserve
Th'extremity of Lawe; but woonder much
Howe hee in such a short tyme after death
Should purchase horse and weapons.
Abbot. Murder's a sinne
Which often is myraculously reveal'd.
Lett justyce question that; beare him to prison,
The t'other to his grave.
Baker. Beeinge so valiant after deathe mee thinkes hee deserves the honor to bee buried lyke a knight in his compleate armor.
Abbot. These thinges shoold not bee trifled. Honest frendes,
Retyre you to your homes; these are our chardge.
Wee will acquaint our patron with this sadd
And dyre desaster; fyrst his counsell use,
Next as wee maye our Innocens excuse.
[Exeunt.
SCENA 3, ET ULTIMA.
Enter Mildewe and Sarleboyes.[150]
Mild. May the disease of Naples now turn'd Frensh Take bothe the Judge and Jurors! they have doomd The fayre Palestra from mee.
Sarl. So they had Scribonia too, and mulcted us beesydes, But that in part they did comiserate Our so greate losse by sea.