Perhapps thys present mynute he reveales My systers whoredome, or to take away All feare of my revendge he now contryves That my sadd deathe may fynishe my disgrace.

Here the playwright shows a touch of pathos: Good nyght, Lapoole, and pardon me, I prethee, That my sadd feare made question of thy faith.

Whether shall I fly to Palestra back And with this sadd relation kill her quite That's scarce recovered!

This sadd spectacle Howe itt affrights mee! Denis.

Ere you demand Further from us, letts tast your Christian charity, Som fyare, som harbor, least ere our sadd tale Bee fully tould wee perishe.