A DIALOGUE OR▪ A Dispute between the late Hangman and Death.  
Hangmn. 
What, is my glass run?  Death. 
Yes, Richard Brandon.   beheading upon a scaffold surrounded by soldiers  Hangman. 
HOw now, stern landlord, must I out of door?  
I pray you, Sir, what am I on your score?  
I cannot at this present call to mind,  
That I with you am any thing behind.  Death. 
Yes, Richard Brandon, you shall shortly know,  
There's nothing paid for you, but you still owe  
The total sum, and I am come to crave it;  
Provide yourself, for I intend to have it.  Hangman. 
Stay, Death, thou'it force me stand upon my guard;  
Me thinks this is a very slight reward,  
Let's talk a while, I value not thy Dart,  
For, next thyself, I can best act thy part.  Death. 
Lay down thy axe, and cast thy Ropes away,  
'Tis I command, 'tis thou that must obey;  
Thy Part is played and thou go'st off the Stage  
The bloodiest Actor in this present Age.  Hangman. 
But, Death, thou know'st, that I for many years,  
As by old Tiburnes Records it appears,  
Have monthly paid my Taxes unto thee,  
Tied up in twisted Hemp, for more security;  
And now of late I think thou put'st me to't,  
When none but Brandon could be found to do't:  
I gave the Blow caused thousand hearts to ache,  
Nay more than that, it made three kingdoms quake:  
Yet in obedience to thy powerful call,  
Down went that Cedar, with some Shrubs, and all  
To satisfy thy ne'r-contented Lust.  
Now, for reward, thou tellest me that I must  
Lay down my tools, and with thee pack from hence;  
Grim Sir, you give a fearful recompense.  Death. 
Brandon no more, make haste, I cannot stay,  
Thou know'st thyself how ill I brook delay:  
Though thou hadst sent ten thousand to the grave,  
What's that to me, 'tis thee I now must have:  
'Tis not the King, nor any of his peers  
Cut off by thee, can add unto thy years;  
Come, perfect thy accounts, make right thy Score,  
Old Charon stays, perhaps he'll set thee o'er.  Hangman. 
Then I must go, which many going sent;  
Death, thou didst make me but thy instrument,  
To execute, and ●un the hazard to;  
Of all thou didst engage me for to do,  
In blood to thee, how oft did I carouse,  
Being chief Master of thy Slaughter-house?  
For those the Plague did spare, if once I catcht'um,  
With axe or Rope I quickly had dispatcht'um.  
Yet now, at last, of life thou wilt bereave me,  
And as thou find'st me, so thou mean'st to leave me:  
But those black stains I in thy Service got,  
Will still remain, though I consume and rot.  
Strike home▪ all-conqu'ring Death, I Brandon yield,  
Thou wilt, I see, be Master of the Field.  

EPITAPH.  
WHo, do you think, lies buried here?  
One that did help to make Hemp dear,  
The poorest Subject did abhor him,  
And yet his King did kneel before him;  
He would his Master not betroy,  
Yet he his Master did destroy,  
And yet no Judas; in Records 'tis found,  
Judas had thirty pence, he thirty pound.   
FINIS.