Wid. May I be turn'd a monster, and the shame
Of all my sex, and if I not believe thee.
Take me unto thee: these and all that's mine.
Were it thrice trebled, thou wert worthy all.
And do not blame this trial, 'cause it shows
I give myself unto thee, am not forc'd,
And with it love, that ne'er shall be divorc'd.
Spend. I am glad 'tis come to this; yet, by this light,
Thou putt'st me into a horrible fear.
But this is my excuse: know that my thoughts
Were not so desperate as my action seem'd;
For, 'fore my dagger should ha' drawn one drop
Of thy chaste blood, it should have sluic'd out mine,
And the cold point stuck deep into my heart.
Nor better be my fate, if I shall move
To any other pleasure but thy love.
Wid. It shall be in my creed: but let's away.
For night with her black steeds draws up the day.
[Exeunt.
Enter Will Rash, Staines, Geraldine, Gertrude, Joyce, and a boy with a lanthorn.
W. Rash. Softly, boy, softly; you think you are upon firm ground; but it is dangerous. You'll never make a good thief, you rogue, till you learn to creep upon all four. If I do not sweat with going this pace! everything I see, methinks, should be my father in his white beard.
Staines. It is the property of that passion; for fear
Still shapes all things we see to that we fear.
W. Rash. Well said, logic: sister, I pray, lay hold of him; for the man, I see, is able to give the watch an answer if they should come upon him with interrogatories.
Enter Spendall, Widow, and Phillis.
Zounds, we are discovered! boy, come up close, and use the property of your lanthorn. What dumb show should this be?
Gera. They take their way directly, [and] intend nothing against us.