Jul. Stand, or I'll shoot.
Cro. Hold, he makes no resistance.
Alb. Be not offended Goddesses, that I fall
Thus prostrate at your feet: or if not such,
But Nymphs of Dian's train, that range these groves,
Which you forbid to men; vouchsafe to know
I am a man, a wicked sinful man; and yet not sold
So far to impudence, as to presume
To press upon your privacies, or provoke
Your Heavenly angers; 'tis not for my self
I beg thus poorly, for I am already wounded,
Wounded to death, and faint; my last breath
Is for a Virgin, comes as near your selves
In all perfection, as what's mortal may
Resemble things divine. O pitty her,
And let your charity free her from that desart,
If Heavenly charity can reach to Hell,
For sure that place comes near it: and where ere
My ghost shall find abode,
Eternally I shall powre blessings on ye.
Hip. By my life I cannot hurt him.
Cro. Though I lose my head for it, nor I.
I must pitty him, and will.
Enter Clarinda.
Jul. But stay, Clarinda?
Cla. What new game have ye found here, ha!
What beast is this lies wallowing in his gore?
Cro. Keep off.
Cla. Wherefore, I pray? I ne'er turn'd
From a fell Lioness rob'd of her whelps,
And, Shall I fear dead carrion?