Sir Charles Mountford. Thou shalt to thy long home, Or I will want my will. Sir Francis Acton. All they that love Sir Francis, follow me. Sir Charles Mountford. All that affect Sir Charles, draw on my part. Cranwell. On this side heaves my hand. Wendoll. Here goes my heart. [_They divide themselves_. Sir Charles Mountford, Cranwell, Falconer, _and_ Huntsman, _fight against_ Sir Francis Acton, Wendoll, _his_ Falconer, _and_ Huntsman; _and_ Sir Charles’s _side gets the better, beating the others away, and killing both of_ Sir Francis’s _men. Exeunt all except_ Sir Charles. Sir Charles Mountford. My God! what have I done? what have I done? My rage hath plunged into a sea of blood, In which my soul lies drowned. Poor innocents, For whom we are to answer! Well, ’tis done, And I remain the victor. A great conquest, When I would give this right hand, nay, this head, To breathe in them new life whom I have slain! Forgive me, God! ’twas in the heat of blood, And anger quite removes me from myself: It was not I, but rage, did this vile murder; Yet I, and not my rage, must answer it. Sir Francis Acton he is fled the field; With him all those that did partake his quarrel, And I am left alone with sorrow dumb, And in my height of conquest overcome. _Enter_ Susan. Susan. O God! my brother wounded ’mong the dead! Unhappy jest, that in such earnest ends: The rumour of this fear stretched to my ears, And I am come to know if you be wounded. Sir Charles Mountford. Oh! sister, sister, wounded at the heart. Susan. My God forbid! Sir Charles Mountford. In doing that thing which He forbad, I am wounded, sister. Susan. I hope not at the heart. Sir Charles Mountford. Yes, at the heart. Susan. O God! a surgeon there! Sir Charles Mountford. Call me a surgeon, sister, for my soul; The sin of murder it hath pierced my heart, And made a wide wound there: but for these scratches, They are nothing, nothing. Susan. Charles, what have you done? Sir Francis hath great friends, and will pursue you Unto the utmost danger of the law. Sir Charles Mountford. My conscience is become mine enemy, And will pursue me more than Acton can. Susan. Oh, fly, sweet brother. Sir Charles Mountford. Shall I fly from thee? Why, Sue, art weary of my company? Susan. Fly from your foe. Sir Charles Mountford. You, sister, are my friend; And, flying you, I shall pursue my end. Susan. Your company is as my eye-ball dear; Being far from you, no comfort can be near; Yet fly to save your life: what would I care To spend my future age in black despair, So you were safe? and yet to live one week Without my brother Charles, through every cheek My streaming tears would downwards run so rank, Till they could set on either side a bank, And in the midst a channel; so my face For two salt-water brooks shall still find place.