Cæl. How does my Couzen, Friend?
Serv. Madam, I fear he’s drawing near his end.
Cæl. ’Pray Heav’n divert it.
Anto. The Letter shews, that Death did guide his hand;
It only says, Oh Friend, come now or never.
Ger. How did his Sickness take him?
Serv. Chacing the Buck too hard; he hot with Labour,
Drunk of a cooling Spring too eagerly,
And that has given him pains, the Doctors say,
Will give him Death immediately.
Cæl. Heav’n grant him help.
Anto. Return, and tell thy Lord, I’m at thy heels.
Pedro, bring my Boots, and bid two Horses be made
ready.
Cæl. Whom do you take, my Lord?
Anto. Pedro:—but hold, Jasper is not discharg’d, I’le ee’n take him.