TROMPART. O, what hath he done? his nose bleeds. But, oh, I smell a fox: Look where my master lies. Master, master. STRUMBO. Let me alone, I tell thee, for I am dead. TROMPART. Yet one word, good master. STRUMBO. I will not speak, for I am dead, I tell thee. TROMPART. And is my master dead? O sticks and stones, brickbats and bones, and is my master dead? O you cockatrices and you bablatrices, that in the woods dwell: You briers and brambles, you cook’s shops and shambles, come howl and yell. With howling & screeking, with wailing and weeping, come you to lament, O Colliers of Croyden, and rustics of Royden, and fishers of Kent; For Strumbo the cobbler, the fine merry cobbler of Cathnes town: At this same stour, at this very hour, lies dead on the ground. O master, thieves, thieves, thieves. STRUMBO. Where be they? cox me tunny, bobekin! let me be rising. Be gone; we shall be robbed by and by. [_Exeunt._] SCENE VI. The camp of the Huns Enter Humber, Hubba, Segar, Thrassier, Estrild, and the soldiers. HUMBER. Thus from the dreadful shocks of furious Mars, Thundering alarms, and Rhamnusias’ drum, We are retired with joyful victory. The slaughtered Troyans, squeltring in their blood, Infect the air with their carcasses, And are a prey for every ravenous bird. ESTRILD. So perish they that are our enemies! So perish they that love not Humber’s weal, And mighty Jove, commander of the world, Protect my love from all false treacheries. HUMBER. Thanks, lovely Estrild, solace to my soul. But, valiant Hubba, for thy chivalry, Declared against the men of Albany, Lo, here a flowering garland wreathed of bay, As a reward for thy forward mind. [_Set it on his head._] HUBBA. This unexpected honor, noble sire, Will prick my courage unto braver deeds, And cause me to attempt such hard exploits, That all the world shall sound of Hubba’s name. HUMBER. And now, brave soldiers, for this good success, Carouse whole cups of Amazonian wine, Sweeter than nectar or Ambrosia, And cast away the clods of cursed care, With goblets crowned with Semeleius’ gifts. Now let us march to Abis’ silver streams, That clearly glide along the Champaign fields, And moist the grassy meads with humid drops. Sound drums & trumpets, sound up cheerfully, Sith we return with joy and victory. [_Exeunt._] ACT III PROLOGUE Enter Ate as before. The dumb show. A Crocodile sitting on a river’s rank, and a little Snake stinging it. Then let both of them fall into the water.