Susan. The blood cleaveth to the ground and will not out. 261
Alice. But with my nails I’ll scrape away the blood;—
The more I strive, the more the blood appears!
Susan. What’s the reason, Mistress, can you tell?
Alice. Because I blush not at my husband’s death.
Here enters Mosbie.
Mosbie. How now? what’s the matter? is all well?
Alice. Ay, well, if Arden were alive again.
In vain we strive, for here his blood remains.
Mosbie. Why, strew rushes on it, can you not?
This wench doth nothing: fall unto the work. 270
Alice. ’Twas thou that made me murder him.
Mosbie. What of that?