_Pem_. O yet a little longer, gracious time, Detayne his princely spirit in his brest That I may tell him he is misse-inform'd And purge my selfe unto my dying friend. But death hath layd his num-cold hand upon me: I am arrested to depart this life. Deare Ferdinand, although thou be my death, On thee Ile friendly breathe my latest breath. _Enter Forrester_. _For_. How full of pleasure is this Forrest life! My Parke I liken to a Common wealth In which my Bucks and Does are Citizens; The Hunters Lodge the Court from whence is sent Sentence of life or death as please the King; Onely our government's a tyranny[135] In that wee kill our subjects upon sport. But stay; what Gentlemen do heere lye slayne? If any sparke of life doe yet remayne Ile helpe to fanne it with a nymble hand. The organ of his hand doth play apace; He is not so far spent but that with helpe He may recover to his former state. How is the other? I doe feel soft breath Breake from between his lips. Oh for some ayd To beare them to the Forrest to my Lodge, But as I am Ile try my utmost strength To save their lives. First seene shall be the first: Patience and Ile returne and fetch the other. [_Exit_. _Enter Fisherman_. _Fisher_. My angle-rod is broke, my sport is done, But I will fetch my net to catch some fish; To lose both fish and pleasure is too much. Oh what contentment lives there in the brooke! What pretty traines are made by cunning hands To intrap the wily watry Citizens[136]! But what art thou that lyest on the ground? Sleepst thou or art thou slaine? hath breath his last? No sparke of life appeares, yet from his eye Me thinks I see a glymmering light breake forth, Which, wanting strength, is like a twilight glimse. If there be any hope to save his life Ile try my utmost cunning. To my house, Poore Gentleman, Ile beare thee as a ghest, And eyther cure thy wounds or make thy grave. [_Exit_. _Enter Forrester, missing the other taken away, speaks anything, and exit_. _Enter Clowne and Katharine_. _Clow_. Just in this circle I left the two Princes ready to draw; for I read the whole discourse of the Combate in their red eyes. _Kath_. Heere lye their weapons and heere flowes their bloud. _Clow_. Have they not slayne one another and buryed themselves? _Kath_. Peace, foole; [i]t is too sure that they are slayne. _Clow_. O Lord, then let mee turne my selfe into a Ballad and mourne for them? _Kath_. Thou angrest me with jesting at my sorrow. Hence from my sight! my heart is full of griefe And it will breake, the burthen is so great. _Clow_. Goe from your sight? then let me goe out of your company, for I had as leeve leave your sight as your company. Is this my reward for watching and watching? Oh, Mistris, doe not kill mee with unkindnesse[137]: I shall, I shall-- _Kath_. What shall you? _Clow_. Weepe out mine eyes and fill the holes with salt water.