But who comes here? Oh Ithimore come neere;

Come neere, my love, come neere, thy masters life,

My trusty servant, nay, my second selfe;

For I have now no hope but even in thee;

And on that hope my happinesse is built:

When saw'st thou Abigall?

To day.

A Fryar.

How, Sir?

That's no Iye, for she sent me for him.

Oh master.

Who I, master? Why I'le run to some rocke and throw my selfe headlong into the sea; why I'le doe any thing for your sweet sake.

I hold my head my master's hungry: I goe Sir.

Here 'tis, Master.

Yes, Sir, the proverb saies, he that eats with the devil had need of a long spoone. I have brought you a Ladle.

Why, master, wil you poison her with a messe of rice porredge? that wil preserve life, make her round and plump, and batten more then you are aware.

How master?

How so?

Pray doe, and let me help you, master. Pray let me taste first.

Troth master, I'm loth such a pot of pottage should be spoyld.

Well, master, I goe.

What a blessing has he given't? was ever pot of rice porredge so sauc't? what shall I doe with it?

Here's a drench to poyson a whole stable of Flanders mares: I'le carry's to the Nuns with a powder.

I am gone.

Pay me my wages for my worke is done.