No More Learning

Borrow his help; though Hercules call it odds,
I'll stand against both, as I am, hemmed in thus.
Alone, I can do nothing, but I have servants
And friends to succour me; and if I make not
This house a heap of ashes, or leave one throat uncut,
Hell add to my afflictions! [_Exit. _

MARRALL: Is't not brave sport?

ALLWORTH (_to_ MARGARET): Nay, weep not, dearest,
though't express your pity.

MARRALL: Was it not a rare trick,
An't please your worship, to make the deed nothing?
I can do twenty neater, if you please
To purchase and grow rich. They are mysteries
Not to be spoke in public; certain minerals
Incorporated in the ink and wax.

WELLBORN: You are a rascal. He that dares be false
To a master, though unjust, will ne'er be true
To any other. Look not for reward
Or favour from me. Instantly begone.

MARRALL: At this haven false servants still arrive.

[_Exit. Re-enter_ OVERREACH.
WILLDO: Some little time I have spent, under your favours,
In physical studies, and, if my judgment err not,
He's mad beyond recovery.

OVERREACH: Were they a squadron of pikes, when I am mounted
Upon my injuries, shall I fear to charge them?

[_Flourishing his sword sheathed_.

I'll fall to execution--ha! I am feeble:
Some undone widow sits upon mine arm,
And takes away the use of 't! And my sword,
Glued to my scabbard with wronged orphans' tears,
Will not be drawn. Are these the hangmen?
But I'll be forced to hell like to myself;
Though you were legions of accursed spirits,
Thus would I fly among you. [_Rushes forward_.

WELLBORN: There's no help;
Disarm him first, then bind him.

MARGARET: Oh, my dear father!

[_They force_ OVERREACH _off_.

ALLWORTH: You must be patient, mistress.

LOVELL: Pray take comfort.
I will endeavour you shall be his guardians
In his distraction: and for your land, Master Wellborn,
Be it good or ill in law, I'll be an umpire
Between you and this the undoubted heir
Of Sir Giles Overreach; for me, here's the anchor
That I must fix on.

[_Takes_ LADY ALLWORTH'S _hand_.