A Yorkshire Tragedy (Third Folio, 1664)

 517Enter a maid with a child in her armes, the
 518Mother by her asleep.
 519 Maid. Sleep sweet babe, sorrow makes thy mother sleep,
 520It boads small good when heavinesse falls so deep,
 521Hush, pretty boy, thy hopes might have bin better,
 522'Tis lost at Dice, what ancient honour won,
 523Hard when the father plaies away the Son:
 524Nothing but misery serves in this house,
 525Ruine and desolation; oh.
 526Enter Husband with the Boy bleeding.
 527 Hus. Whore, give me that Boy.
 528He strives with her for the child.
 529 Maid. Oh help, help, out alas, murder, murder.
 530 Hus. Are you gossiping, prating sturdy quean,
 531I'le break your clamour with your neck,
 532Down stayers; tumble, tumble, headlong,
 533He throws her down.
 534So, the surest way to charme a womans tongue,
 535Is break her neck, a Polititain did it.
 536Son.Mother, mother, I am kill'd mother.
 537His wife awakes, and catcheth up the youngest.
 538 Wife. Ha, who's that cry'd? O me my children,
 539Both, both; bloudy, bloudy.
 540 Hus. Strumpet, let go the boy, let go the beggar.
 541 Wife. Oh my sweet husband.
 542 Hus. Filth, Harlot.
 543 Wife. Oh, what will you do, dear husband?
 544 Hus. Give me the bastard.
 545 Wife. Your own sweet boy.
 546 Hus. There are too many beggars.
 547 Wife. Good my husband.
 548 Hus. Do'st thou prevent me still?
 549 Wife. Oh God!
 550Stabs at the child in her armes, and gets it from her.
 551 Hus.Have at his heart.
 552 Wife. Oh my dear boy.
 553 Hus. B
 rat, thou shalt not live to shame thy house.
 554 Wife. Oh heaven.She is hurt and sinks down.
 555 Hus. And perish, now be gone,
 556There's whores enow, and want would make thee one.
 557Enter a lusty Servant.
 558 Ser. Oh sir, what deeds are these?
 559 Hus. Base slave, my vassail,
 560Com'st thou between my fury to question me?
 561 Ser. Were you the devil, I would hold you, sir.
 562 Hus. Hold me? presumption, I'le undo thee for it.
 563 Ser. 'Sbloud, you have undone us all, sir.
 564 Hus.Tug at thy Master?
 565 Ser. Tug at a monster.
 566 Hus. Have I no power? shall my slave fetter me?
 567 Ser. Nay then the devil wrastles, I am thrown.
 568Husband overcomes him.
 569 Hus. Oh villain, now I'le tug thee, now I'le tear thee,
 570set quick spurs to my vassail, bruise him, trample him; 
 571so, I think thou wilt not follow me in haste.
 572My horse stands ready sadled, away, away,
 573Now to my brat at nurse, my sucking beggar; 
 574Fates, I'le not leave you one to trample on.
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A Yorkshire Tragedy (Third Folio, 1664)
