_Enter_ Bellario. _Bell_. A heaviness near death sits on my brow, And I must sleep: Bear me thou gentle bank, For ever if thou wilt: you sweet ones all, Let me unworthy press you: I could wish I rather were a Coarse strewed o're with you, Than quick above you. Dulness shuts mine eyes, And I am giddy; Oh that I could take So sound a sleep, that I might never wake. _Enter_ Philaster. _Phi_. I have done ill, my conscience calls me false, To strike at her, that would not strike at me: When I did fight, me thought I heard her pray The gods to guard me. She may be abus'd, And I a loathed villain: if she be, She will conceal who hurt her; He has wounds, And cannot follow, neither knows he me. Who's this; _Bellario_ sleeping? If thou beest Guilty, there is no justice that thy sleep [_Cry within_. Should be so sound, and mine, whom thou hast wrong'd, So broken: Hark I am pursued: you gods I'le take this offer'd means of my escape: They have no mark to know me, but my wounds, If she be true; if false, let mischief light On all the world at once. Sword, print my wounds Upon this sleeping boy: I ha' none I think Are mortal, nor would I lay greater on thee. [_Wounds him_. _Bell_. Oh death I hope is come, blest be that hand, It meant me well; again, for pities sake. _Phi_. I have caught my self, [Phi. _falls_. The loss of bloud hath stayed my flight. Here, here, Is he that stroke thee: take thy full revenge, Use me, as I did mean thee, worse than death: I'le teach thee to revenge this luckless hand Wounded the Princess, tell my followers Thou didst receive these hurts in staying me, And I will second thee: Get a reward. _Bell_. Fly, fly my Lord and save your self. _Phi_. How's this? Wouldst thou I should be safe? _Bell_. Else it were vain For me to live. These little wounds I have, Ha' not bled much, reach me that noble hand, I'le help to cover you. _Phi_. Art thou true to me? _Bell_. Or let me perish loath'd. Come my good Lord, Creep in amongst those bushes: who does know But that the gods may save your (much lov'd) breath? _Phi_. Then I shall die for grief, if not for this, That I have wounded thee: what wilt thou do?