Ros. What, is our victual gone too?—
Fife. Ay, that brute
Has carried all we had away with her,
Clothing, and cate, and all.
Ros. And now the sun,
Our only friend and guide, about to sink
Under the stage of earth.
Fife. And enter Night,
With Capa y Espada—and—pray heaven!—
With but her lanthorn also.