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Do we not find you where the deed was done?

Were not your knives fast closed in your hands?

Is not this cloth an argument beside,

Thus stained and spotted with his innocent blood?

These speaking characters, were nothing else

To plead against ye, would convict you both.

Bring them away, bereavers of my joy.

At Hartford, where the Sizes now are kept,

Their lives shall answer for my son's lost life.

COBHAM.

As we are innocent, so may we speed.

LEE.

As I am wronged, so may the law proceed.

[Exeunt.]

ACT V. SCENE IX. St. Albans.

[Enter bishop of Rochester, constable of St. Albans, with sir John of Wrotham, Doll his wench, and the Irishman in Harpoole's apparel.]

BISHOP.

What intricate confusion have we here?

Not two hours since we apprehended one,

In habit Irish, but in speech not so:

And now you bring another, that in speech

Is altogether Irish, but in habit

Seems to be English: yea and more than so,

The servant of that heretic Lord Cobham.

IRISHMAN.

Fait, me be no servant of the lord Cobham,

Me be Mack Chane of Vister.

BISHOP.

Otherwise called Harpoole of Kent; go to, sir,

You cannot blind us with your broken Irish.

SIR JOHN.

Trust me, my Lord Bishop, whether Irish,

Or English, Harpoole or not Harpoole, that

I leave to be decided by the trial:

But sure I am this man by face and speech

Is he that murdered young sir Richard Lee—

I met him presently upon the fact—

And that he slew his master for that gold;

Those jewels, and that chain I took from him.

BISHOP.

Well, our affairs do call us back to London,

So that we cannot prosecute the cause,

As we desire to do; therefore we leave

The charge with you, to see they be conveyed

To Hartford Sise: both this counterfeit

And you, sir John of Wrotham, and your wench,

For you are culpable as well as they,

Though not for murder, yet for felony.

But since you are the means to bring to light

This graceless murder, you shall bear with you

Our letters to the Judges of the bench,

To be your friends in what they lawful may.

BISHOP.

So, away with them.

[Exeunt.]

ACT V. SCENE X. Hertford. A Hall of Justice.

[Enter Gaoler and his man, bringing forth Old-castle.]

GAOLER.

Bring forth the prisoners, see the court prepared;

The Justices are coming to the bench.

So, let him stand; away, and fetch the rest.

[Exeunt.]

COBHAM.

Oh, give me patience to endure this scourge,

Thou that art fountain of that virtuous stream,

And though contempt, false witness, and reproach

Hang on these iron gyves, to press my life

As low as earth, yet strengthen me with faith,

That I may mount in spirit above the clouds.

[Enter Gaoler, bringing in Lady Old-castle and

Harpoole.]

Here comes my lady: sorrow, tis for her

Thy wound is grievous; else I scoff at thee.

What, and poor Harpoole! art thou ith bryars too?

HARPOOLE.

Ifaith, my Lord, I am in, get out how I can.

LADY COBHAM.

Say, gentle Lord, for now we are alone,

And may confer, shall we confess in brief,

Of whence, and what we are, and so prevent

The accusation is commenced against us?

COBHAM.

What will that help us? being known, sweet love,

We shall for heresy be put to death,

For so they term the religion we profess.

No, if it be ordained we must die,

And at this instant, this our comfort be,

That of the guilt imposed, our souls are free.

HARPOOLE.

Yea, yea, my lord, Harpoole is so resolved.

I wreak of death the less, in that I die

Not by the sentence of that envious priest

The Bishop of Rochester: oh, were it he,

Or by his means that I should suffer here,

It would be double torment to my soul.

LADY COBHAM.

Well, be it then according as heaven please.

[Enter lord Judge, two Justices, Mayor of Saint

Albans, lord Powesse and his lady, and old sir

Richard Lee: the Judge and Justices take their

places.]

JUDGE.

Now, Master Mayor, what gentleman is that,

You bring with you before us and the bench?

MAYOR.

The Lord Powis, if it like your honor,

And this his Lady, travelling toward Wales,

Who, for they lodged last night