Letts remove itt then.
_Lord Av_. The sinne it self, the churches malediction,
As doone to one of a sequestred lyfe
And holly order, the lawes penalty,
Being duble forfeture of lyfe and state,
Reproach, shame, infamy, all these incur'd
Through my inconsiderate rashnes!
_Denis_. My lyfe, too.
Howe to prevent the danger of all these?
_Lord Av_. Ey, that will aske much breyne, much project.
_Denis_. Sir,
Shall we poppe him in som privy?
_Lord Av_. Duble injurye,
To praye upon the soule and after deathe
Doo to the body such discoortesy;
It neather savours of a generous spyritt
Nor that which wee call manly.
_Denis_. Anythinge
For a quiett lyfe,[115] but this same wryneckt deathe,
That which still spoyles all drinkinge, 'tis a thinge
I never coold indure; as you are noble
Keepe still my wind pype open.
_Lord Av_. Out of many
Museings[116] for boath our safetyes I have fownd
One that's above the rest most probable.
_Denis_. What, what, I praye, Syr?
_Lord Av_. Interupt mee not:
Staye I should nowe begett a stratagem
To save myne owne lyfe, myne estate and goodds,
Ey, and secure thee too.
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