Michael. To fetch my master’s nag.
I hope you’ll think on me.
Alice. Ay; but, Michael, see you keep your oath,
And be as secret as you are resolute.
Michael. I’ll see he shall not live above a week.
Alice. On that condition, Michael, here’s my hand:
None shall have Mosbie’s sister but thyself.
Michael. I understand the painter here hard by 150
Hath made report that he and Sue is sure.
Alice. There’s no such matter, Michael; believe it not.
Michael. But he hath sent a dagger sticking in a heart,
With a verse or two stolen from a painted cloth,
The which I hear the wench keeps in her chest.
Well, let her keep it! I shall find a fellow
That can both write and read and make rhyme too.
And if I do—well, I say no more:
I’ll send from London such a taunting letter
As she shall eat the heart he sent with salt 160
And fling the dagger at the painter’s head.
Alice. What needs all this? I say that Susan’s thine.
Michael. Why, then I say that I will kill my master,
Or anything that you will have me do.
Alice. But, Michael, see you do it cunningly.