Gillian. Oh, mistress, the murthering knaves will burn the house above our heads!
Lady K. Hold thy peace, silly wench!
[General hubbub. Children cling crying to
their mother. Diccon and Gillian at
window. Rafe now running to window,
now tugging at his father's hand. Phyllis
at his other side.
Diccon. They come down the long hill!
Gillian. I see them, the knaves!
Phyllis. Oh, Uncle, prythee forgive Rufus—save him quickly!
Sir G. [angrily]. He doth not desire forgiveness.
Phyllis. Oh, Uncle, he would have asked it but now. Thy bitter words did check him, and thou knowest he is proud. He could not ask it then.
Gillian. Here they be!