Ori. A cruel man,
Ye are all cruel: are you in your grave too?
For there's no trusting cruel man, above ground.
Nor. Byr'Lady that goes hard.
Mir. To do you service
And to restore ye to the joys you were in.
Ori. I was in joyes indeed, and hope—
Mir. She sinks again
Again she's gone; she's gone: gone as a shadow,
She sinks for ever, friend.
Nor. She is cold now,
She is certainly departed, I must cry too.
Mir. The blessed angels guide thee: put the stone too,
Beauty thou art gone to dust, goodness to ashes.
Nor. Pray take it well: we must all have our hours Sir.
Mir. I, thus we are; and all our painted glory,
A buble that a boy blows in to th' ayr,
And there it breaks.
Nor. I am glad ye sav'd her honor yet.