IRISHMAN. Prethee, Lord shudge, let me have mine own clothes, my strouces there, and let me be hanged in a with after my cuntry--the Irish--fashion.
[Exit.]
JUDGE. Go to; away with him. And now, sir John, Although by you this murther came to light, And therein you have well deserved, yet upright law, So will not have you be excused and quit, For you did rob the Irishman, by which You stand attainted here of felony. Beside, you have been lewd, and many years Led a lascivious, unbeseeming life.
SIR JOHN. Oh but, my Lord, he repents, sir John repents, and he will mend.
JUDGE. In hope thereof, together with the favour, My Lord of Rochester entreats for you, We are content you shall be proved.
SIR JOHN. I thank you good Lordship.
JUDGE. These other falsely here accused, and brought In peril wrongfully, we in like sort Do set at liberty, paying their fees.
LORD POWIS. That office, if it please ye, I will do, For countries sake, because I know them well. They are my neighbours, therefore of my cost Their charges shall be paid.
LEE. And for amends, Touching the wrong unwittingly I have done, There are a few crowns more for them to drink.
[Gives them a purse.]
JUDGE. Your kindness merits praise, sir Richard Lee: So let us hence.
[Exeunt all but Lord Powis and Old-castle.]
LORD POWIS. But Powis still must stay. There yet remains a part of that true love He owes his noble friend unsatisfied, And unperformed, which first of all doth bind me To gratulate your lordship's safe delivery, And then entreat, that since unlooked for thus We here are met, your honor would vouchsafe, To ride with me to Wales, where to my power, (Though not to quittance those great benefits, I have received of you) yet both my house, My purse, my servants, and what else I have, Are all at your command. Deny me not; I know the Bishop's hate pursues ye so, As there's no safety in abiding here.
COBHAM. Tis true, my Lord, and God forgive him for it.
LORD POWIS. Then, let us hence: you shall be straight provided Of lusty geldings, and once entered Wales, Well may the Bishop hunt, but, spite his face, He never more shall have the game in chase.
[Exeunt.]
FINIS.