_Cro._ Lord, What a man is this thought I, To do this to a Maid! Yet then for my life I could not wake. The youth, a little danted, with a trembling hand Heav'd up the clothes. _Hip._ Yet still you slept? _Cro._ Y'faith I did; and when, methoughts, he was warm by my side, Thinking to catch him, I stretcht out both mine armes; And when I felt him not, I shreekt out, And wak'd for anger. _Hip._ 'Twas a pretty dream. _Cro._ I, if it had been a true one. _Enter_ Albert. _Jul._ But stay, What's here cast o'th' shore? _Hip._ 'Tis a man; Shall I shoot him? _Cro._ No, no, 'tis a handsome beast; Would we had more o'th' breed; stand close wenches, And let's hear if he can speak. _Alb._ Do I yet live? Sure it is ayr I breathe; What place is this? Sure something more than humane keeps residence here, For I have past the _Stygian_ gulph, And touch upon the blessed shore? 'tis so; This is the _Elizian_ shade; these happy spirits, That here enjoy all pleasures. _Hip._ He makes towards us. _Jul._ Stand, or I'll shoot. _Cro._ Hold, he makes no resistance. _Alb._ Be not offended Goddesses, that I fall Thus prostrate at your feet: or if not such, But Nymphs of _Dian_'s train, that range these groves, Which you forbid to men; vouchsafe to know I am a man, a wicked sinful man; and yet not sold So far to impudence, as to presume To press upon your privacies, or provoke Your Heavenly angers; 'tis not for my self I beg thus poorly, for I am already wounded, Wounded to death, and faint; my last breath Is for a Virgin, comes as near your selves In all perfection, as what's mortal may Resemble things divine. O pitty her, And let your charity free her from that desart, If Heavenly charity can reach to Hell, For sure that place comes near it: and where ere My ghost shall find abode, Eternally I shall powre blessings on ye. _Hip._ By my life I cannot hurt him. _Cro._ Though I lose my head for it, nor I. I must pitty him, and will. _Enter_ Clarinda. _Jul._ But stay, _Clarinda_? _Cla._ What new game have ye found here, ha! What beast is this lies wallowing in his gore? _Cro._ Keep off. _Cla._ Wherefore, I pray? I ne'er turn'd From a fell Lioness rob'd of her whelps, And, Shall I fear dead carrion? _Jul._ O but. _Cla._ But, What is't? _Hip._ It is infectious. _Cla._ Has it not a name? _Cro._ Yes, but such a name from which As from the Devil your Mother commands us flie. _Cla._ Is't a man? _Clo._ It is. _Cla._ What a brave shape it has in death; How excellent would it appear had it life! Why should it be infectious? I have heard My Mother say, I had a Father, And was not he a Man? _Cro._ Questionless Madam.