Mich. I do not use to talk, Sir. [Exit.
Val. Ye are welcome;
Is there no Constancy in earthly things,
No happiness in us, but what must alter?
No life without the heavy load of Fortune?
What miseries we are, and to our selves,
Even then when full content seems to sit by us,
What daily sores and sorrows!
Enter Alice.
Alice. O dear Brother,
The Gentleman if ever you will see him
Alive as I think.
Enter Cellide.
Cel. O he faints, for Heavens sake,
For Heavens sake, Sir.
Val. Go comfort him, dear Sister. [Exit Alice.
And one word, sweet, with you; then we'll go to him.
What think you of this Gentleman?
Cel. My pity thinks, Sir,
'Tis great misfortune that he should thus perish.
Val. It is indeed, but Cellide, he must dye.