SCENE VIII. A high road.
[Enter Husband as being thrown off his horse,
And falls.]
HUSBAND.
Oh stumbling Jade, the spavin overtake thee,
The fifty disease stop thee!
Oh, I am sorely bruisde; plague founder thee:
Thou runst at ease and pleasure. Hart of chance!
To Throw me now within a flight oth Town,
In such plain even ground, sfoot, a man
May dice up on’t, and throw away the Meadows.
Filthy beast.
CRY WITHIN.
Follow, follow, follow.
HUSBAND.
Ha! I hear sounds of men, like hew and cry:
Up, up, and struggle to thy horse, make on;
Dispatch that little begger and all’s done.
KNIGHT.
Here, this way, this way!
HUSBAND.
At my back? Oh,
What fate have I? my limbs deny me go,
My will is bated: beggery claims a part.
Oh, could I here reach to the infants heart.
[Enter Master of the College, 3. Gentlemen, and others with
Holberds.]
[Find him.]
ALL.
Here, here: yonder, yonder.
MASTER.
Unnatural, flinty, more than barbarous:
The Scythians or the marble hearted fates
Could not have acted more remorseless deeds
In their relentless natures, then these of thine:
Was this the answer I long waited on,
The satisfaction for thy prisoned brother?
HUSBAND.
Why, he can have no more on’s then our skins,
And some of em want but fleaing.
1 GENTLEMAN. Great sins have made him imprudent.
MASTER.
H’as shed so much blood that he cannot blush.
2 GENTLEMAN.
Away with him, bear him a long to the Justices;
A gentleman of worship dwells at hand;
There shall his deeds be blazed.
HUSBAND.
Why, all the better.
My glory tis to have my action known:
I grieve for nothing, but I mist of one.
MASTER.
There’s little of a father in that grief:
Bear him away.
[Exeunt.]