_Gos._ Is she a thing then to be lost thus lightly? Her mind is ten times sweeter, ten times nobler, And but to hear her speak, a Paradise, And such a love she bears to me, a chaste love, A vertuous, fair, and fruitful love: 'tis now too I am ready to enjoy it; the Priest ready, _Clause_, To say the holy words shall make us happy, This is a cruelty beyond mans study, All these are ready, all our joyes are ready, And all the expectation of our friends, 'Twill be her death to do it. _Cla._ Let her dye then. _Gos._ Thou canst not: 'tis impossible. _Cla._ It must be. _Gos._ 'Twill kill me too, 'twill murder me: by heaven _Clause_ I'le give thee half I have; come thou shalt save me. _Cla._ Then you must go with me: I can stay no longer, If ye be true, and noble. _Gos._ Hard heart, I'le follow: Pray ye all go in again, and pray be merry, I have a weighty business, (give my Cloak there,) _Enter_ Servant (_with a Cloak._) Concerns my life, and state, (make no enquiry,) This present hour befaln me: with the soonest I shall be here again: nay pray go in, Sir, And take them with you, 'tis but a night lost, Gentlemen. _Van._ Come, come in, we will not lose our meat yet, Nor our good mirth, he cannot stay long from her, I am sure of that. _Gos._ I will not stay; believe, Sir. [_Exit._ _Gertrude_, a word with you. _Ger._ Why is this stop, Sir? _Gos._ I have no more time left me, but to kiss thee, And tell thee this, I am ever thine: farewel wench. [_Exit._ _Ger._ And is that all your Ceremony? Is this a wedding? Are all my hopes and prayers turn'd to nothing? Well, I will say no more, nor sigh, nor sorrow; Till to thy face I prove thee false. Ah me! [_Exit._ _ACTUS QUINTUS. SCENA PRIMA._ _Enter_ Gertrude, _and a_ Boor. _Ger._ Lead, if thou thinkst we are right: why dost thou make These often stands? thou saidst thou knewst the way. _Bo._ Fear nothing, I do know it: would 'twere homeward. _Ger._ Wrought from me by a Beggar? at the time That most should tye him? 'tis some other Love That hath a more command on his affections, And he that fetcht him, a disguised Agent, Not what he personated; for his fashion Was more familiar with him, and more powerful Than one that ask'd an alms: I must find out One, if not both: kind darkness be my shrowd, And cover loves too curious search in me, For yet, suspicion, I would not name thee. _Bo._ Mistris, it grows somewhat pretty and dark. _Ger._ What then? _Bo._ Nay, nothing; do not think I am afraid, Although perhaps you are. _Ger._ I am not, forward. _Bo._ Sure but you are? give me your hand, fear nothing. There's one leg in the wood, do not pull me backward: What a sweat one on's are in, you or I? Pray God it do not prove the plague; yet sure It has infected me; for I sweat too, It runs out at my knees, feel, feel, I pray you. _Ger._ What ails the fellow? _Bo._ Hark, hark I beseech you, Do you hear nothing? _Ger._ No.