_Fr. R_. Just at the tyme
When, I beeinge mounted on the baker's mare,
The gates weare sett wyde ope for mee to fly.
_Abb_. So that it seemes one beast pursuide the tother,
And not the dead Fryar _Richard_.
_Av_. Howsoever,
As one repentant for my rashnes past,
And loathe to Imbrewe mee in more Innocent blood,
I fyrst confesse my servant's guilt and myne,
Acquitt the Fryar, and yeeld our persons upp
To the full satisfaction of the lawe.
_Enter the Lady Averne and her maid Mellesent_.
_Lady_. Which, noble Sir, the Kinge thus mittigates:
See, I have heare your pardon. In the tyme
That you weare ceas'd with this deepe melancholly
And inward sorrowe for a sinne so fowle,
My self in person posted to the Kinge
(In progresse not farr off), to him related
The passadge of your busines, neather rose I
From off my knees till hee had signd to this.
_Av_. Th'hast doon the offyce of a noble wyfe.
His grace I'l not despyse, nor thy great love
Ever forgett, and iff way may bee fownd
To make least satisfaction to the dead,
I'l doo't in vowed repentance.
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