Put. Dost think so, Vasques?

Vas. Nay, I know it; sure it was some near and entire friend.

Put. "Twas a dear friend indeed; but

Vas. But what? fear not to name him; my life between you and danger: 'faith, I think it was no base fellow.

Put. Thou wilt stand between me and harm? Vas. U'ds pity, what else? you shall be rewarded too, trust me.

Put. 'Twas even no worse than her own brother.

Vas. Her brother Giovanni, I warrant you!

Put. Even he, Vasques; as brave a gentleman as ever kiss'd fair lady. O they love most perpetually.

Vas. A brave gentleman indeed! why therein I commend her choice-better and better-[Aside.] You are sure 'twas he?

Put. Sure; and you shall see he will not be long from her too.

Vas. He were to blame if he would; but may I believe thee?

Put. Believe me! why, dost think I am a Turk or a Jew? No, Vasques, I have known their dealings too long, to belie them now.

Vas. Where are you? there, within, sirs!

Enter BANDITTI.

Put. How now, what are these?

3 Enter banditti.] It may appear singular, that Vasques should have a body of assassins awaiting his call; before he had any assu

Vas. You shall know presently. Come, sirs, take me this old damnable hag, gag her instantly, and put out her eyes, quickly, quickly!

Put. Vasques! Vasques!

Vas. Gag her, I say; 'sfoot, do you suffer her to prate? what do you fumble about? let me come to her. I'll help your old gums, you toad-bellied bitch! (they gag her.) Sirs, carry her closely into the coal-house, and put out her eyes instantly; if she roars, slit her nose; do you hear, be speedy and sure. [Exeunt BAN. with PUT. Why this is excellent, and above expectationher own brother! O horrible! to what a height of liberty in damnation hath the devil trained our age! her brother, well! there's yet but a beginning; I must to my lord, and tutor him better in his points of vengeance: now I see how a smooth tale goes beyond a smooth tail; but soft-what thing comes next? Giovanni! as I could wish; my belief is strengthened, 'tis as firm as winter and summer.

Enter GIOVANNI.

Gio. Where's my sister?

Vas. Troubled with a new sickness, my lord; she's somewhat ill.

Gio. Took too much of the flesh, I believe.

Vas. Troth, sir, and you I think have even hit it; but my virtuous lady

rance that they would be needed; the circumstance serves, however, to illustrate the savage nature of this revengeful villain.

Gio. Where is she?

Vas. In her chamber; please you visit her; she is alone. [G1o. gives him money.]. Your liberality hath doubly made me your servant, and ever shall, [Exit Gio.

ever

Re-enter SORANZO.

Sir, I am made a man; I have plied my cue with cunning and success; I beseech you let us be private.

Sor. My lady's brother's come; now he'll know

all.

Vas. Let him know it; I have made some of them fast enough. How have How have you dealt with my lady?

Sor. Gently, as thou hast counsell'd; O my soul

Runs circular in sorrow for revenge;

But, Vasques, thou shalt know

Vas. Nay, I will know no more, for now comes your turn to know; I would not talk so openly with you-let my young master take time enough, and go at pleasure; he is sold to death, and the devil shall not ransom him.-Sir, I beseech you, your privacy.

Sor. No conquest can gain glory of my fear.

[Exeunt.

ACT V. SCENE I.

The Street before SORANZO's House.
ANNABELLA appears at a Window, above.

Ann. Pleasures, farewell, and all ye thriftless minutes

Wherein false joys have spun a weary life!
To these my fortunes now I take my leave.
Thou, precious Time, that swiftly rid'st in post
Over the world, to finish up the race

Of my last fate, here stay thy restless course,
And bear to ages that are yet unborn
A wretched, woeful woman's tragedy!
My conscience now stands up against my lust,
With depositions character'd in guilt,

Enter FRIAR, below.

And tells me I am lost: now I confess;
Beauty that clothes the outside of the face,
Is cursed if it be not cloth'd with grace.
Here like a turtle, (mew'd up in a cage,)
Unmated, I converse with air and walls,
And descant on my vile unhappiness.
O Giovanni, that hast had the spoil

Of thine own virtues, and my modest fame;
Would thou hadst been less subject to those stars
That luckless reign'd at my nativity!

O would the scourge, due to my black offence,
Might pass from thee, that I alone might feel
The torment of an uncontrouled flame!

Friar. What's this I hear?

Ann. That man, that blessed friar,

Who join'd in ceremonial knot my hand
To him whose wife I now am, told me oft,
I trod the path to death, and shew'd me how.
But they who sleep in lethargies of lust,

Hug their confusion, making Heaven unjust;
And so did I.

Friar. Here's music to the soul!

Ann. Forgive me, my good Genius, and this

once

Be helpful to my ends; let some good man
Pass this way, to whose trust I may commit
This paper, double lined with tears and blood;
Which being granted, here I sadly vow
Repentance, and a leaving of that life
I long have died in.

Friar. Lady, Heaven hath heard you,
And hath by providence ordain'd, that I
Should be his minister for your behoof.
Ann. Ha, what are you ?

Friar. Your brother's friend, the Friar; Glad in my soul that I have liv'd to hear This free confession 'twixt your peace and

you:

What would you, or to whom? fear not to speak. Ann. Is Heaven so bountiful?-then I have

found

More favour than I hoped; here, holy man

[Throws down a letter.

Commend me to my brother, give him that,
That letter; bid him read it, and repent.