Myriads of joyes, though short in number of
Thy virtues, fall on thee; Oh my _Eugenia_,
Th' assurance that I do embrace thee, makes
My twenty years of sorrow but a dream,
And by the Nectar, which I take from these,
I feel my age restor'd, and like old _Æson_
Grow young again.
_Eug._ My Lord, long wish'd for welcome,
'Tis a sweet briefness, yet in that short word
All pleasures which I may call mine, begin,
And may they long increase, before they find
A second period: let mine eies now surfeit
On this so wish'd for object, and my lips
Yet modestly pay back the parting kiss
You trusted with them, when you fled from _Sevil_,
With little _Clara_ my sweet daughter: lives she?
Yet I could chide my self, having you here
For being so covetous of all joyes at once,
T' enquire for her, you being alone, to me
My _Clara, Lucio_, my Lord, my self,
Nay more than all the world.
_Alv._ As you, to me are.
_Eug._ Sit down, and let me feed upon the story
Of your past dangers, now you are here in safety
It will give rellish, and fresh appetite
To my delights, if such delights can cloy me.
Yet do not _Alvarez_, let me first yield you
Account of my life in your absence, and
Make you acquainted how I have preserv'd
The Jewel left lock'd up in my womb,
When you, in being forc'd to leave your Countrey,
Suffer'd a civil death. [_Within clashing swords._
_Alv._ Doe my _Eugenia_,
'Tis that I most desire to hear.
_Eug._ Then know. [Sayavedra _within_.
_Alv._ What noise is that?
_Saya._ If you are noble enemies, [Vitelli _within_.
Oppress me not with odds, but kill me fairly.
_Vit._ Stand off, I am too many of my self.
_Enter_ Bobadilla.
_Bob._ Murther, murther, murther, your friend my Lord,
_Don Sayavedra_ is set upon in the streets, by your enemies
_Vitelli_, and his Faction: I am almost kill'd with looking on
them.
_Alv._ I'll free him, or fall with him: draw thy sword
And follow me.
_Cla._ Fortune, I give thee thanks
For this occasion once more to use it. [_Exit._
_Bo[b]._ Nay, hold not me Madam; if I do any hurt, hurt me.
_Luc._ Oh I am dead with fear! let's flie into
Your Closet, Mother.
_Eug._ No hour of my life
Secure of danger? heav'n be merciful,
Or now at once dispach me.
_Enter_ Vitelli, _pursued by_ Alvarez, _and_ Sayavedra, Clara
_beating of_ Anastro.
_Cla._ Follow him
Leave me to keep these of.
_Alv._ Assault my friend
So near my house?
_Vit._ Nor in it will spare thee,
Though 'twere a Temple: and I'll make it one,
I being the Priest, and thou the sacrifice,
I'll offer to my Uncle.
_Alv._ Haste thou to him,
And say I sent thee:
_Cla._ 'Twas put bravely by,
And that: and yet comes on, and boldly rare,
In the wars, where emulation and example
Joyn to increase the courage, and make less
The danger; valour, and true resolution
Never appear'd so lovely, brave again:
Sure he is more than man, and if he fall;
The best of virtue, fortitude would dye with him:
And can I suffer it? forgive me duty,
So I love valour, as I will protect it
Against my Father, and redeem it, though
'Tis forfeited by one I hate.
_Vit._ Come on,
All is not lost yet: You shall buy me dearer
Before you have me: keep off.
_Cla._ Fear me not,
Thy worth has took me prisoner, and my sword
For this time knows thee only for a friend,
And to all else I turn the point of it.
_Say._ Defend your Fathers enemy?
_Alv._ Art thou mad?
_Cla._ Are you men rather? shall that valour, which
Begot you lawful honor in the wars,
Prove now the Parent of an infamous Bastard
So foul, yet so long liv'd, as murther will
Be to your shames? have each of you, alone
With your own dangers only, purchas'd glory
From multitudes of enemies, not allowing
Those nearest to you, to have part in it,
And do you now joyn, and lend mutual help
Against a single opposite? hath the mercy
Of the great King, but newly wash'd away
The blood, that with the forfeit of your life
Cleav'd to your name, and family like an ulcer,
In this again to set a deeper dye
Upon your infamy: you'll say he is your foe,
And by his rashness call'd on his own ruin;
Remember yet, he was first wrong'd, and honor
Spurr'd him to what he did, and next the place
Where now he is: your house, which by the laws
Of hospitable duty should protect him;
Have you been twenty years a stranger to it,
To make your entrance now in blood? or think you
Your countrey-man, a true born _Spaniard_, will be
An offering fit, to please the _genius_ of it?
No, in this I'll presume to teach my Father,
And this first Act of disobedience shall
Confirm I am most dutiful.
_Alv._ I am pleas'd
With what I dare not give allowance to;
Unnatural wretch, what wilt thou do?
_Cla._ Set free
A noble enemy: come not on, by----You
pass to him, through me: the way is open:
Farewel: when next I meet you, do not look for
A friend, but a vow'd foe; I see you worthy,
And therefore now preserve you, for the honor
Of my sword only:
_Vit._ Were this man a friend,
How would he win me, that being my vow'd foe
Deserves so well? I thank you for my life;
But how I shall deserve it, give me leave
Hereafter to consider. [_Exit._
_Alv._ Quit thy fear,
All danger is blown over: I have Letters
To the Governor, in the Kings name, to secure us,
From such attempts hereafter: yet we need not,
That have such strong Guards of our own, dread others;
And to increase thy comfort, know, this young man
Whom with such fervent earnestness you eye,
Is not what he appears, but such a one
As thou with joy wilt bless, thy Daughter _Clara_.
_Eug._ A thousand blessings in that word.
_Alv._ The reason
Why I have bred her up thus, at more leasure
I will impart unto you, wonder not
At what you have seen her do, it being the least
Of many great and valiant undertakings
She hath made good with honor.
_Eug._ I'll return
The joy I have in her, with one as great
To you my _Alvarez_: you, in a man,
Have given to me a Daughter: in a Woman,
I give to you a Son, this was the pledge
You left here with me, whom I have brought up
Different from what he was, as you did _Clara_,
And with the like success; as she appears
Alter'd by custom, more than Woman, he
Transform'd by his soft life, is less than man.
_Alv._ Fortune, in this gives ample satisfaction
For all our sorrows past.
_Luc._ My dearest Sister.
_Cla._ Kind Brother.
_Alv._ Now our mutual care must be
Imploy'd to help wrong'd nature, to recover
Her right in either of them, lost by custom:
To you I give my _Clara_, and receive
My _Lucio_ to my charge: and we'll contend
With loving industry, who soonest can
Turn this man woman, or this woman man. [_Exeunt._
_Actus Secundus. Scæna Prima._
_Enter_ Pachieco, _and_ Lazarillo.
_Pac._ Boy: [my] Cloak, and Rapier; it fits not a Gentleman of
my rank, to walk the streets in _Querpo_.
_Laz._ Nay, you are a very rank Gent. Signior, I am very
hungry, they tell me in _Sevil_ here, I look like an Eel, with
a mans head: and your neighbor the Smith here hard by, would
have borrowed me th' other day, to have fish'd with me, because
he had lost his Angle-rod.
_Pac._ Oh happy thou _Lazarillo_ (being the cause of other mens
wits) as in thine own: live lean, and witty still: oppress not
thy stomach too much: gross feeders, great sleepers[: great
sleepers,] fat bodies; fat bodies, lean brains: No _Lazarillo_,
I will make thee immortal, change thy Humanity into Deity, for
I will teach thee to live upon nothing.
_Laz._ Faith Signior, I am immortal then already, or very near
it, for I do live upon little or nothing: belike that's the
reason the Poets are said to be immortal, for some of them live
upon their wits, which is indeed as good as little or nothing:
But good Master, let me be mortal still, and let's go to supper.
_Pac._ Be abstinent; shew not the corruption of thy generation:
he that feeds, shall die, therefore, he that feeds not shall
live.
_Laz._ I; but how long shall he live? there's the question.
_Pac._ As long as he can without feeding: did'st thou read of
the miraculous Maid in _Flanders_?
_Laz._ No, nor of any Maid else; for the miracle of Virgi[n]ity
now-a-days ceases, e'r the Virgin can read Virginity?
_Pac._ She that liv'd three years without any other sustenance,
than the smell of a Rose.
_Laz._ I heard of her _Signior_, but they say her guts shrunk
all into Lute-strings, and her neather-parts cling'd together
like a Serpents Tail, so that though she continued a woman
still above the girdle, beneath yet she was monster.
_Pac._ So are most women, believe it.
_Laz._ Nay all women _Signior_, that can live only upon the
smell of a Rose.
_Pac._ No part of the History is fabulous.
_Laz._ I think rather no part of the Fable is Historical: but
for all this, Sir, my rebellious stomach will not let me be
immortal: I will be as immortal, as mortal hunger will suffer:
put me to a certain stint Sir, allow me but a red herring a day.
_Pac. O' de dios_: wouldst thou be gluttonous in thy
delicacies?
_Laz._ He that eats nothing but a red herring a day, shall
ne'r be broil'd for the devil's rasher: a Pilchard, _Signior_,
a Surdiny, an Olive, that I may be a Philosopher first, and
immortal after.
_Pac._ Patience _Lazarillo_; let contemplation be thy food
awhile: I say unto thee, one Pease was a Soldiers Provant a
whole day, At the destruction of _Jerusalem_.
_Enter_ Metaldi, _and_ Mendoza.
_Laz._ I; and it were any where but at the destruction of a
place, I'll be hang'd.
_Met. Signior Pachieco Alasto_, my most ingenious Cobler of
_Sevil_, the _bonos noxios_ to your Signiorie.
_Pac. Signior Metaldi de Forgio_, my most famous Smith, and
man of Mettle, I return your courtesie ten fold, and do humble
my Bonnet beneath the Shooe-sole of your congie: the like to
you _Signior Mendoza Pediculo de Vermim_, my most exquisite
Hose-heeler.
_Laz._ Here's a greeting betwixt a Cobler, a Smith, and a
Botcher: they all belong to the foot, which makes them stand so
much upon their Gentrie.
_Mend. Signior Lazarillo._
_Laz._ Ah Signior see: nay, we are all _Signiors_ here in
_Spain_, from the Jakes-farmer to the Grandee, or _Adelantado_:
this Botcher looks as if he were Dough-bak'd, a little Butter
now, and I could eat him like an Oaten-cake: his fathers
diet was new Cheese and Onions when he got him: what a
scallion-fac'd rascal 'tis!
_Met._ But why _Signior Pachieco_, do you stand so much on the
priority, and antiquity of your quality (as you call it) in
comparison of ours?
_Mend._ I; your reason for that.
_Pac._ Why thou Iron-pated Smith: and thou Woollen-witted
Hose-heeler: hear what I will speak indifferently (and
according to antient Writers) of our three professions: and let
the upright _Lazarillo_ be both judge and moderator.
_Laz._ Still am I the most immortally hungry; that may be.
_Pac._ Suppose thou wilt derive thy Pedigree, like some of the
old _Heroes_, (as _Hercules, Æneas, Achilles_) lineally from
the gods, making _Saturn_ thy great Grandfather, and _Vulcan_
thy Father: _Vulcan_ was a god.
_Laz._ He'll make _Vulcan_ your godfather by and by.
_Pac._ Yet I say, _Saturn_ was a crabbed block-head, and
_Vulcan_ a limping Horn-head, for _Venus_ his wife was a
strumpet, and _Mars_ begot all her Children; therefore however,
thy original must of necessity spring from Bastardie: further,
what can be a more deject spirit in man, than to lay his hands
under every ones horses feet, to do him service, as thou dost?
For thee, I will be brief, thou dost botch, and not mend, thou
art a hider of enormities, _viz._, Scabs, chilblains, and kib'd
heels: much prone thou art to Sects, and Heresies, disturbing
State, and Government; for how canst thou be a sound member in
the common-wea[l]th, that art so subject to stit[c]hes in the
ankles? blush, and be silent then, oh ye Mechanicks, compare
no more with the politick Cobler: For Coblers (in old time)
have prophesied, what may they do now then, that have every
day waxed better, and better? have we not the length of every
mans foot? are we not daily menders? yea, and what menders? not
horse-menders.
_Laz._ Nor manners-menders.
_Pach._ But soul-menders: Oh divine Coblers; do we not, like
the wise man, spin out our own threads, (or our wives for us?)
do we not by our sowing the Hide, reap the Beef? are not we
of the Gentle-craft, whilst both you are but Crafts-men; You
will say, you fear neither Iron nor Steel, and what you get is
wrought out of the fire; I must answer you again, though, all
this is but forgery: You may likewise say, a man's a man, that
has but a hose on his head: I must likewise answer, that man
is a botcher, that has a heel'd hose on his head: to conclude,
there can be no comparison with the Cobler, who is all in all
in the Common-wealth, has his politique eye and ends on every
mans steps that walks, and whose course shall be lasting to the
worlds end.
_Met._ I give place: the wit of man is wonderful: thou hast
hit the nail on the head, and I will give thee six pots for't,
though I ne'r clinch shooe again.
_Enter_ Vitelli _and_ Alguazier.
_Pac._ Who's this? oh our _Alguazier_: as arrant a knave
as e'er wore one head under two offices: he is one side
_Alguazier_.
_Met._ The other side Serjeant.
_Mend._ That's both sides carrion I am sure.
_Pac._ This is he apprehends whores in the way of justice, and
lodges 'em in his own house, in the way of profit: he with
him, is the Grand Don _Vitelli_, 'twixt whom and _Fernando_
_Alvarez_, the mortal hatred is; he is indeed my Don's Bawd,
and does at this present, lodge a famous Curtizan of his,
lately come from _Madrid_.
_Vit._ Let her want nothing _Signior_, she can aske:
What loss or injury you may sustain
I will repair, and recompence your love:
Only that fellows coming I mislike,
And did fore-warn her of him: bear her this
With my best love, at night I'll visit her.
_Alg._ I rest your Lordships Servant.
_Vit._ Good ev'n, Signiors:
Oh _Alvarez_, thou hast brought a Son with thee
Both brightens, and obscures our Nation,
Whose pure strong beams on us, shoot like the Suns
On baser fires: I would to heaven my bloud
Had never stain'd thy bold unfortunate hand,
That with mine honor I might emulate,
Not persecute such virtue: I will see him,
Though with the hazard of my life: no rest
In my contentious spirits, can I find
Till I have gratify'd him in like kind. [_Exit._
_Alg._ I know you not: what are ye? hence ye base _Besegnios_.
_Pac. Mary Catzo Signior Alguazier_, d'ye not know us? why,
we are your honest neighbors, the Cobler, Smith, and Botcher,
that have so often sate snoaring cheek by joll with your
Signiorie, in rug at midnight.
_Laz._ Nay, good Signior, be not angry: you must understand, a
Cat, and such an Officer see best in the dark.
_Met._ By this hand, I could find in my heart to shooe his head.
_Pac._ Why then know you, _Signior_; thou mongril, begot at
midnight, at the Goal gate, by a Beadle, on a Catchpoles wife,
are not you he that was whipt out of _Toledo_ for perjury.
_Men._ Next; condemn'd to the Gallies for pilfery, to the Buls
pizel.
_Met._ And after call'd to the Inquisition, for Apostacie.
_Pac._ Are not you he that rather than you durst goe an
industrious voyage being press'd to the Islands, skulk'd
till the Fleet was gone, and then earn'd your Royal a day by
squiring puncks, and puncklings up and down the City?
_Laz._ Are not you a _Portuguize_ born, descended o' the
_Moors_, and came hither into _Sevil_ with your Master, an
arrant Tailor, in your red Bonnet, and your blue Jacket,
lousie, though now your block-head be cover'd with the
_Spanish_ block, and your lashed Shoulders with a Velvet Pee.
_Pac._ Are not you he that have been of thirty callings, yet
ne'r a one lawful? that being a Chandler first, profess'd
sincerity, and would sell no man Mustard to his Beef on the
Sabbath, and yet sold Hypocrisie all your life time?
_Met._ Are not you he, that were since a Surgeon to the Stews,
and undertook to cure what the Church it self could not,
Strumpets that rise to your office by being a great Don's Bawd?
_Laz._ That commit men nightly, offenceless, for the gain of a
groat a prisoner, which your Beadle seems to put up, when you
share three pence?
_Mend._ Are not you he that is a kisser of men, in drunkenness,
and a betrayer in sobriety?
_Alg. Diabolo_: they'll rail me into the Gallies again.
_Pac._ Yes Signior, thou art even he we speak of all this
while: thou mayst by thy place now, lay us by the heels: 'tis
true: but take heed, be wiser, pluck not ruin on thine own
head: for never was there such an Anatomie, as we shall make
thee then: be wise therefore, [Oh] thou child of the night! be
friends, and shake hands, thou art a proper man, if thy beard
were redder: remember thy worshipful function, a Constable;
though thou turn'st day into night, and night into day, what of
that? watch less and pray more: [gird thy beares skin (_viz._
thy Rug-gowne) to thy loyes, take thy staffe in thy hand, and
goe forth at midnight:] Let not thy mittens abate the talons of
thy authority, but gripe theft and whoredom, wheresoever thou
meet'st 'em: bear 'em away like a tempest, and lodge 'em safely
in thine own house:
_Laz._ Would you have whores and thieves lodgd in such a house?
_Pac._ They ever do so: I have found a thief, or a whore there,
when the whole Suburbs could not furnish me.
_Laz._ But why do they lodge there?
_Pac._ That they may be safe and forth-coming: for in the
morning usually, the thief is sent to the Goal, and the whore
prostrates her self to the Justice.
_Men._ Admirable _Pachiecho_.
_Met._ Thou Cobler of _Christendom_.
_Alg._ There is no railing with these rogues: I will close with
'em, till I can cry quittance: why Signiors, and my honest
neighbors, will you impute that as a neglect of my friends,
which is an imperfection in me? I have been Sandblind from my
infancy: to make you amends you shall sup with me.
_Laz._ Shall we sup with ye, Sir? O' my conscience, they have
wrong'd the Gentleman extreamly.
_Alg._ And after supper, I have a project to employ you in,
shall make you drink and eat merrily this month: I am a little
knavish: why, and doe not I know all you to be knaves?
_Pac._ I grant you, we are all knaves, and will be your knaves:
But oh, while you live, take heed of being a proud knave.
_Alg._ On then pass: I will bear out my staffe, and my staffe
shall bear out me.
_Laz._ Oh _Lazarillo_, thou art going to supper. [_Exeunt._
_Scæna Secunda._
_Enter_ Lucio, _and_ Bobadilla.
_Luc._ Pray be not angry.
_Bob._ I am angry, and I will be angry _Diabolo_: what should
you do in the Kitchin, cannot the Cooks lick their fingers
without your overseeing? nor the maids make pottage, except
your dogs-head be in the pot? _Don_ Lucio, Don _Quot-Quean_,
Don _Spinster_, wear a Petticoat still, and put on your Smock
a' Monday: I will have a baby o' clouts made for it, like a
great girl: nay, if you will needs be starching of Ruffs, and
sowing of Black-work, I will of a mild, and loving Tutor,
become a Tyrant, your Father has committed you to my charge,
and I will make a man or a mouse on you.
_Luc._ What would you have me do? this scurvy sword
So galls my thigh: I would 't were burnt: pish, look,
This Cloak will ne'r keep on: these Boots too hide-bound,
Make me walk stiff, as if my legs were frozen,
And my Spurs gingle like a Morris-dancer:
Lord, how my head akes with this roguish Hat;
This masculine attire is most uneasie,
I am bound up in it: I had rather walk
In _folio_, again, loose like a woman.
_Bob._ In _Foolio_, had you not?
Thou mock to heav'n, and nature, and thy Parents,
Thou tender Leg of Lamb; oh, how he walks
As if he had bepiss'd himself, and fleers!
Is this a gate for the young Cavalier,
Don _Lucio_, Son and Heir to _Alvarez_?
Has it a corn? or do's it walk on conscience,
It treads so gingerly? Come on your ways,
Suppose me now your Fathers foe, _Vitelli_,
And spying you i' th' street, thus I advance
I twist my Beard, and then I draw my sword.
_Luc._ Alas.
_Bob._ And thus accost thee: traiterous brat,
How durst thou thus confront me? impious twig
Of that old stock, dew'd with my kinsmans gore,
Draw, for I'll quarter thee in pieces four.
_Luc._ Nay, prethee _Bobadilla_, leave thy fooling,
Put up thy sword, I will not meddle with ye;
I, justle me, I care not: I'll not draw,
Pray be a quiet man.
_Bob._ D'ye hear: answer me, as you would do Don _Vitelli_,
or I'll be so bold as to lay the pomel of my sword over the hilts
of your head: my name's _Vitelli_, and I'll have the wall.
_Luc._ Why then I'll have the kennel: what a coil you keep!
Signior, what happen'd 'twixt my Sire and your
Kinsman, was long before I saw the world,
No fault of mine, nor will I justifie
My Fathers crimes: forget Sir, and forgive.
'Tis Christianity: I pray put up your sword,
I'll give you any satisfaction
That may become a Gentleman: however
I hope you are bred to more humanity
Than to revenge my Fathers wrong on me
That crave your love, and peace: law-you-now _Zancho_
Would not this quiet him, were he ten _Vitellies_.
_Bob._ Oh craven-chicken of a Cock o' th' game: well, what
remedy? did thy Father see this, O' my conscience, he would cut
off thy Masculine gender, crop thine ears, beat out thine eyes,
and set thee in one of the Pear trees for a scare-crow: As I am
_Vitelli_, I am satisfied; But as I am _Bobadilla_, _Spindola,
Zancho_, Steward of the house, and thy Fathers Servant, I could
find in my heart to lop off the hinder part of thy face, or
to beat all thy teeth into thy mouth: Oh thou whay-blooded
milk-sop, I'll wait upon thee no longer, thou shalt ev'n wait
upon me: come your ways Sir, I shall take a little pains with
ye else.
_Enter_ Clara.
_Cla._ Where art thou brother _Lucio_? ran tan tan ta ran tan
ran tan tan ta, ta ran tan tan tan. Oh, I shall no more see
those golden daies, these clothes will never fadge with me: a
---- O' this filthy vardingale, this hip-hape: brother, why are
womens hanches only limited, confin'd, hoop'd in, as it were
with these same scurvy vardingales?
_Bob._ Because womens hanches only are most subject to display
and flie out.
_Cla. Bobadilla_, rogue, ten Duckets, I hit the prepuce of
thy Codpiece.
_Luc._ Hold, if you love my life, Sister: I am not _Zancho_
_Bobadilla_, I am your brother _Lucio_: what a fright you have
put me in!
_Cla._ Brother? and wherefore thus?
_Luc._ Why, Master Steward here, _Signior Zancho_ made me
change: he does nothing but mis-use me, and call me Coward, and
swears I shall wait upon him.
_Bob._ Well: I do no more than I have authori[t]y for: would
I were away though: for she's as much too manish, as he too
womanish: I dare not meddle with her, yet I must set a good
face on't (if I had it) I have like charge of [you] Madam, I
am as well to mollifie you, as to quallifie him: what have you
to do with Armors, and Pistols, and Javelins, and swords, and
such tools? remember Mistriss; nature hath given you a sheath
only, to signifie women are to put up mens weapons, not to
draw them: look you now, is this a fit trot for a Gentlewoman?
You shall see the Court-Ladies move like Goddesses, as if
they trode air; they will swim you their measures, like
Whiting-mops, as if their feet were finns, and the hinges of
their knees oil'd: doe they love to ride great horses, as you
do? no, they love to ride great asses sooner: faith, I know not
what to say t' ye both: Custom hath turn'd nature topsie-turvie
in you.
_Cla._ Nay, but Master Steward.
_Bob._ You cannot trot so fast, but he ambles as slowly.
_Cla. Signior Spindle_, will you hear me?
_Bob._ He that shall come to bestride your Virginity, had
better be afoot o'er the Dragon.
_Cl[a]._ Very well.
_Bob._ Did ever _Spanish_ Lady pace so?
_Cla._ Hold these a little.
_Luc._ I'll not touch 'em, I.
_Cla._ First doe I break your Office o're your pate,
You Dog-skin-fac'd rogue, pilcher, you poor _John_,
Which I will beat to Stock-fish.
_Luc._ Sister.
_Bob._ Madam.
_Cla._ You Cittern-head, who have you talk'd to, ha? You nasty,
stinking, and ill-countenanc'd Cur.
_Bob._ By this hand, I'll bang your brother for this, when I
get him alone.
_Cla._ How? kick him _Lucio_, he shall kick you _Bob_,
Spight o' the nose, that's flat: kick him, I say,
Or I will cut thy head off.
_Bob._ Softly y' had best.
_Cla._ Now, thou lean, dry'd, and ominous visag'd knave,
Thou false and peremptory Steward, pray,
For I will hang thee up in thine own chain.
_Luc._ Good Sister do not choak him.
_Bob._ Murder, murder. [_Exit._