Peace go with you, you are a good man.
[Exit Gob.
My Spaconia, why are you ever sad thus?
Spa.
O dear Lady.
Pan.
Prethee discover not a way to sadness,
Nearer than I have in me, our two sorrows
Work like two eager Hawks, who shall get highest;
How shall I lessen thine? for mine I fear
Is easier known than cur'd.
Spa.
Heaven comfort both,
And give you happy ends, however I
Fall in my stubborn fortunes.
Pan.