Scæna Tertia.
Enter Macer and Judas, with meat and a bottle.
Mac. Hang it o'th' side o'th' rock, as though the Britains
Stole hither to relieve him; who first ventures
To fetch it off, is ours. I cannot see him.
Jud. He lies close in a hole above, I know it,
Gnawing upon his anger: ha? no, 'tis not he.
Macer. 'Tis but the shaking of the boughs.
Jud. —— Shake 'em,
I am sure they shake me soundly. There.
Macer. 'Tis nothing.
Jud. Make no noise if he stir, a deadly tempest
Of huge stones fall upon us: 'tis done: away close. [Exit.
Enter Caratach.