Page:The Lamentable and True Tragedie of M. Arden of Feversham in Kent (1592).pdf/43

 They wil insult vpon me for my mede, Or fright me by detecting of his end. Ile none of that, for I can cast a bone, To make these curres pluck out each others throat, And then am I sole ruler of mine owne: Yet mistres Arden liues, but she's my selfe, And holy Churchrites makes vs two, but one, But what for that I may not trust you Ales, You haue supplanted Arden for my sake, And will extirpen me to plant another: Tis feareful sleeping in a serpents bed. And I wil cleanely rid my hands of her.

But here she comes and I must flatter her. How now Ales? what sad, and passionat? Make me pertaker of thy pensiuenes: Fyre deuided burnes with lesser force.

Ales But I will damne that fire in my breast. Till by the force therof, my part consume, ah Mosbie.

Mos. Such depe pathaires lyke to a cannons burst, Dischargde against a ruinated wall, Breakes my relenting hart in thousand pieces, Ungentle Ales thy sorrow is my sore, Thou knowst it wel, and tis thy pollicy, To forge distressefull looks, to wound a breast, Where lyes a hart, that dies where thou art sad, It is not loue, that loues to anger loue.

Ales. It is not loue, that loues to murther loue.

Mos. How meane you that?

Ales. Thou knowest how dearly Arden loued me.

Mos. And then.

Ales. And then conceale the rest, for tis too bad, Least that my words be carried with the wind. And publisht in the world to both our shames, I pray thee Mosbye let our springtime wither, Our haruest els will yeald but lothsome weedes.