[Woo.] No Sir, not well.
'Tis too true, she is mad.
1 Fr. It cannot be.
Woo. Believe, you'll find it so.
Jay. I half suspected
What you told me: the gods comfort her:
Either this was her love to Palamon,
Or fear of my miscarrying on his scape,
Or both.
Woo. 'Tis likely.
Jay. But why all this haste, Sir?
Woo. I'll tell you quickly. As I late was angling
In the great Lake that lies behind the Palace,
From the far shore, thick set with Reeds and Sedges.
As patiently I was attending sport,
I heard a voice, a shrill one, and attentive
I gave my ear, when I might well perceive
'Twas one that sung, and by the smallness of it
A Boy or Woman. I then left my angle
To his own skill, came near, but yet perceiv'd not
Who made the sound; the Rushes, and the Reeds
Had so encompast it: I laid me down
And listned to the words she sung, for then
Through a small glade cut by the Fisher-men,
I saw it was your Daughter.
Jail. Pray goe on Sir?
Woo. She sung much, but no sence; only I heard her
Repeat this often. Palamon is gone,
Is gone to th' wood to gather Mulberries,
I'll find him out to morrow.
1 Fr. Pretty soul.