WAR. O, do not mock me in my heaviness. WOM. Indeed, I do not. Well, I have within A caudle made, I will go fetch it him. [_Exit_. WAR. O blessed woman! comfortable word! Be quiet, entrails, you shall be reliev'd. _Enter_ WOMAN.[234] WOM. Here, Warman, put this hempen caudle o'er thy head. See downward yonder is thy master's walk; And like a Judas, on some rotten tree, Hang up this rotten trunk of misery, That goers-by thy wretched end may see. Stirr'st thou not, villain? get thee from my door; A plague upon thee, haste and hang thyself. Run, rogue, away! 'tis thou that hast undone Thy noble master, Earl of Huntington. [_Exit_. WAR. Good counsel and good comfort, by my faith. Three doctors are of one opinion, That Warman must make speed to hang himself. The last hath given a caudle comfortable, That to recure my griefs is strong and able: I'll take her medicine, and I'll choose this way, Wherein, she saith, my master hath his walk; There will I offer life for treachery, And hang, a wonder to all goers-by. But soft! what sound harmonious is this? What birds are these, that sing so cheerfully, As if they did salute the flowering spring? Fitter it were with tunes more dolefully They shriek'd out sorrow, than thus cheerly sing. I will go seek sad desperation's cell; This is not it, for here are green-leav'd trees. Ah, for one winter-bitten bared bough, Whereon a wretched life a wretch would lese. O, here is one! Thrice-blessed be this tree, If a man cursed may a blessing give. _Enter_ OLD FITZWATER. But out, alas! yonder comes one to me To hinder death, when I detest to live. FITZ. What woful voice hear I within this wood? What wretch is there complains of wretchedness? WAR. A man, old man, bereav'd of all earth's good, And desperately seeks death in this distress. FITZ. Seek not for that which will be here too soon, At least, if thou be guilty of ill-deeds. Where art thou, son? come, and nearer sit: Hear wholesome counsel 'gainst unhallow'd thoughts. WAR. The man is blind. Muffle the eye of day, Ye gloomy clouds (and darker than my deeds, That darker be than pitchy sable night) Muster together on these high-topp'd trees, That not a spark of light thorough their sprays May hinder what I mean to execute. FITZ. What dost thou mutter? Hear me woful man. _Enter_ MARIAN _with meat_. MAR. Good morrow, father. FITZ. Welcome, lovely maid; And in good time, I trust, you hither come. Look if you see not a distressful man, That to himself intendeth violence: One such even now was here, and is not far. Seek, I beseech you; save him, if you may. MAR. Alas! here is, here is a man enrag'd, Fastening a halter on a wither'd bough, And stares upon me with such frighted looks, As I am fearful of his sharp aspect. FITZ. What mean'st thou, wretch? say, what is't thou wilt do?