2357Rag. I feele a hell of conscience in my brest,

2358Tormenting me with horrour for my fact,

2359And makes me in an agony of doubt,

2360For feare the world should find my dealing out.

2361The slaue whom I appoynted for the act,

2362I ne're set eye vpon the peasant since:

2363O, could I get him for to make him sure,

2364My doubts would cease, and I should rest secure.

2365But if the old men, with perswasiue words,

2366Haue sau'd their liues, and made him to relent;

2367Then are they fled vnto the Court of Fraunce,

2368And like a Trumpet manifest my shame.

2369A shame on these white-liuerd slaues, say I,

2370That with fayre words so soone are ouercome.

2371O God, that I had bin but made a man;

2372Or that my strength were equall with my will!

2373These foolish men are nothing but meere pity,

2374And melt as butter doth against the Sun.

2375Why should they haue preeminence ouer vs,

2376Since we are creatures of more braue resolue?

2377I sweare, I am quite out of charity

2378With all the heartlesse men in Christendome.

2379A poxe vpon them, when they are affrayd

2380To giue a sttab, or slit a paltry Wind-pipe,

2381Which are so easy matters to be done.

2382Well, had I thought the slaue would serue me so,

2383My selfe would haue bin executioner:

2384Tis now vndone, and if that it be knowne,

2385Ile make as good shift as I can for one.

2386He that repines at me, how ere it stands,

2387 'Twere best for him to keepe him from my hands. Exit.