But should he tell, I can but die a death;
Should he conceale, the boy would utter it;
The boy must die, there is no remedie.
[_The boy sitting at his maisters dore_.
_Win_. I wonder that my maister staies so long;
He had not wont to be abroade so late.
Yonder comes one; I thinke that same is he.
_Mer_. I see the boye sits at his maisters doore.
Or now, or never; _Merry_, stir thy selfe,
And rid thy hart from feare and jealousie.--
_Thomas Winchester_, go quicklie to your shoppe:
What, sit you still? your maister is at hand.
[_When the boy goeth into the shoppe Merrie striketh six blowes
on his head & with the seaventh leaves the hammer sticking in his
head; the boy groaning must be heard by a maide who must crye to
her Maister.
[Merrie flieth_.
_Mai_. Oh God I thinke theres theeves in _Beeches_ shop.
_Enter one in his shirt and a maide, and comming to Beeches shop
findes the boy murthered_.
_Nei_. What cruell hand hath done so foule a deede,
Thus to bemangle a distressed youth
Without all pittie or a due remorse!
See how the hammer sticketh in his head,
Wherewith this honest youth is done to death!
Speak, honest _Thomas_, if any speach remaine:
What cruell hand hath done this villanie?
He cannot speake, his senses are bereft.
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