Alice. Nay, nothing, Mosbie, so it be not known.
Mosbie. Keep thou it close, and ’tis unpossible.
Alice. Ah, but I cannot! was he not slain by me?
My husband’s death torments me at the heart.
Mosbie. It shall not long torment thee, gentle Alice;
I am thy husband, think no more of him.
Here enters Adam Fowle and Bradshaw.
Bradshaw. How now, Mistress Arden? what ail you weep?
Mosbie. Because her husband is abroad so late. 280
A couple of ruffians threatened him yesternight,
And she, poor soul, is afraid he should be hurt.
Adam. Is’t nothing else? tush, he’ll be here anon.
Here enters Greene.
Greene. Now, Mistress Arden, lack you any guests?