_Enter the Host, old Forest, and Susan his daughter._ _Host._ You must take comfort, Sir. _For._ Is he dead, is he dead, girl? _Sus._ Oh dead, Sir, Frank is dead. _For._ Alas, alas, my boy! I have not the heart To look upon his wide and gaping wounds. Pray tell me, Sir, does this appear to you Fearful and pitiful--to you that are A stranger to my dead boy? _Host._ How can it otherwise? _For._ O me most wretched of all wretched men! If to a stranger his warm bleeding wounds Appear so grisly and so lamentable, How will they seem to me that am his father? Will they not hale my eye-brows from their rounds, And with an everlasting blindness strike them? _Sus._ Oh, Sir, look here. _For._ Dost long to have me blind? Then I’ll behold them, since I know thy mind. Oh me! Is this my son that doth so senseless lie, And swims in blood? my soul shall fly with his Unto the land of rest. Behold I crave, Being kill’d with grief, we both may have one grave. _Sus._ Alas, my father’s dead too! gentle Sir, Help to retire his spirits, over travail’d With age and sorrow. _Host._ Mr. Forest-- _Sus._ Father-- _For._ What says my girl? good morrow. What’s a clock, That you are up so early? call up Frank; Tell him he lies too long a bed this morning. He was wont to call the sun up, and to raise The early lark, and mount her ’mongst the clouds. Will he not up? rise, rise, thou sluggish boy. _Sus._ Alas, he cannot, father. _For._ Cannot, why? _Sus._ Do you not see his bloodless colour pale? _For._ Perhaps he’s sickly, that he looks so pale. _Sus._ Do you not feel his pulse no motion keep, How still he lies? _For._ Then is he fast asleep. _Sus._ Do you not see his fatal eyelid close? _For._ Speak softly; hinder not his soft repose. _Sus._ Oh see you not these purple conduits run? Know you these wounds? _For._ Oh me! my murder’d son! _Enter young Mr. Forest._