[SCENE VI.]

Enter Merry and Rachel with a bag.

Mer. What, hast thou sped? have you bought the bag?

Rach. I, brother, here it is; what is't to do?

Mer. To beare hence Beeches body in the night.

Rach. You cannot beare so great a waight your selfe, And tis no trusting of another man.

Mer. Yes well enough, as I will order it. Ile cut him peece-meale; first his head and legs Will be one burthen; then the mangled rest, Will be another, which I will transport, Beyond the water in a Ferryboate, And throw it into Paris-garden ditch,[16] Fetch me the chopping knife, and in the meane Ile move the fagots that do cover him. [Remove the Fagots.

Rach. Oh can you finde in hart to cut and carve, His stone-colde flesh, and rob the greedy grave, Of his dissevered blood-besprinkled lims?

Mer. I, mary can I:—fetch the chopping knife.

Rach. This deed is worse, then when you took his life. [Exit.

Mer. But worse, or better, now it must be so, Better do thus than feele a greater woe.

Enter Rach.

Here is the knife, I cannot stay to see This barbarous deed of inhumanitie. [Exit Rachel.

[Merry begins to cut the body, and bindes the armes behinde his back with Beeches garters; leaves out the body, covers the head and legs againe.

Enter Truth.

Yee glorious beames of that bright-shining lampe That lights the starre-bespangled firmament, And dimnes the glimmering shadowes of the night, Why doost thou lend assistance to this wretch, To shamble forth with bold audacitie His lims, that beares thy makers semblance! All you the sad spectators of this Acte, Whose harts do taste a feeling pensivenesse Of this unheard of, savadge massacre, Oh be farre of to harbour such a thought As this audacious murtherer put in ure![17] I see your sorrowes flowe up to the brim, And overflowe your cheekes with brinish teares, But though this sight bring surfet to the eye, Delight your eares with pleasing harmonie,[18] That eares may counterchecke your eyes, and say, Why shed you teares, this deede is but a playe? His worke is done, he seekes to hide his sinne; Ile waile his woe before his woe begin. [Exit Trueth.

Mer. Now will I high me to the water side, And fling this heavie burthen in a ditche, Whereof my soule doth feele so great a waight That it doth almost presse me downe with feare.