[Sinking] Nay—help—ah, I am gone. I'll hasten on
And plead in Heaven for his victory.
[Seems to die]
Alb. Ah ... dead?
Rich. In truth.
Win. I'll go and tell the king.
[Aside, going] My joyful tears he will translate to grief,
And think I weep a friend's death, not a foe's
Whose only act of friendship was to die. [Exit]
Alb. How now, my lord? Does your good purpose hold?