Hadst thou nam'd blood and damn'd iniquitie,
I had forborne to bight so bitterlie.
_Hom_. Knowst thou a hart wide open to receive,
A plot of horred desolation?
Tell me of this, thou art my cheefest good,
And I will quaffe thy health in bowles of blood.
_Ava_. I know two men, that seem two innocents,
Whose lookes, surveied with iuditiall eyes,
Would seeme to beare the markes of honestie;
But snakes finde harbour mongst the fairest flowers,
Then never credit outward semblaunces.
_Enter[4] Trueth_.
I know their harts relentlesse, mercilesse,
And will performe through hope of benefit:
More dreadfull things then can be thought upon.
_Hom_. If gaine will draw, I prethy then allure
Their hungrie harts with hope of recompence,
But tye dispaire unto those mooving hopes,
Unleast a deed of murther farther it,
Then blood on blood, shall overtake them all,
And we will make a bloodie feastivall.
_Cove_. The plots are laide, the keyes of golden coine,
Hath op'd the secret closets of their harts.
Inter [_sic_], insult, make captive at thy will,
Themselves, and friends, with deedes of damned ill:
Yonder is _Truth_, she commeth to bewaile,
The times and parties that we worke upon.
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