Philippo.
Ay, ay; I see his body all too soon:
What barb'rous villain is't that rifles him?
Ah, Ferdinando! the stay of my old age
And chief remainder of our progeny.
Ah, loving cousin! how art thou misdone
By false Erastus? ah no, by treachery;
For well thy valour hath been often tried.
But whilst I stand and weep, and spend the time
In fruitless plaints, the murd'rer will escape
Without revenge, sole salve for such a sore—
Say, villain, wherefore didst thou rifle him?
Piston.
'Faith, sir, for pure good-will.
Seeing he was going towards heaven,
I thought to see if he had a passport to Saint Nicholas, or no.
Philippo.
Some sot he seems to be, 'twere pity to hurt him.
[Aside.
Sirrah, canst thou tell who slew this man?
Piston.
Ay, sir, very well; it was my master Erastus.