In London many alehouse ruffians keep,

Which, as I hear, will murder men for gold.

They shall be soundly fee’d to pay him home.

Mosbie. Alice, what’s he that comes yonder? knowest thou him?

Alice. Mosbie, be gone: I hope ’tis one that comes

To put in practice our intended drifts. 450

450

Greene. Mistress Arden, you are well met.

I am sorry that your husband is from home,

Whenas my purposed journey was to him:

Yet all my labour is not spent in vain,

For I suppose that you can full discourse

And flat resolve me of the thing I seek.

Alice. What is it, Master Greene? If that I may

Or can with safety, I will answer you.

Greene. I heard your husband hath the grant of late,

Confirmed by letters patents from the king, 460

460

Of all the lands of the Abbey of Feversham,

Generally intitled, so that all former grants

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