The Lad. Yes, yes, my lord. (Takes up a water-skin.) Ah, empty, not a quaff!
They've drunk it all from him! My lord, none's left.
I'll run and in the valley brim it soon.
(He goes. David sinks back.)
Second Fol (to First). You drank it, then.
First Fol. And should I thirst, not he?
Give me the bread.
Second Fol. If it would strangle you.
First Fol. I'll have it.
Second Fol. Or betray him? spitingly?
It is the last. Already you have eat.
And we are here within a wilderness.
First Fol. Be it, but I'll not starve.
Third Fol. He utters right.
Why should we but to follow a mere shepherd
Famish—over a hundred desert hills?
The prophecy portending him the throne—
Folly, not fate! though it is Samuel's.
I'll trust in it no more.
First Fol. Nor I.