And bubbled at his right, swerved to the left
And tumbled into one that lay quite still,
But deep enough to drown him for his pains.
[Exit.
Clara. What, did she hear what to myself I said?
Or saw my colour change from white to red?
Or only guess’d me waiting for the prey
Her idle chatter ought to fright away?
If chance have done more than all prudence could,
Prudence at least may make occasion good.