With suche a frayle unproffytable thynge
As face or person when you chusse a frende;
Th'are all deceytfull. Would my funerall rytts
Were as I wishe provyded, to dispeirse
A warnynge by my horryble abuse,
And I would dye to morrowe. I lament
That such another pyttied foole as I
Should be amongst the liveinge.--Harke! who knocks?
[_Richard knocks_.
Aunswere, what are you?

_Rich_. Open to your frende.

_Gan_. O my starrs, tys he! can myschiefe thus
Come flyinge to my bossome?--Sir, I come
To open twoe dores, thys & thy false bossome.
[_Stabbs hym_.

_Rich_. O y'ave slayne me! tell me, cruell Sir,
Why you have doone thys that myne inocent soule
May teache repentance to you--
[_Dies_.

_Gan_. Speake it out.
What, not a worde? dumbe with a littill blowe?
You are growne statlye, are you? tys even so:
You have the trycke of mightie men in courte
To speake at leasure & pretend imployment.
Well, take your tyme; tys not materyall
Whether you speake the resydue behynde