Melfort.I must go and bring some aid for you,
Or you will die here in the marsh.
(Heavens, how she clings upon my arm;
Heavens, how her fingers cling upon me;
And O the swooning light of her eyes!)
What, shall I take you in my arms, then,
And bear you to the town?
And bear you to the town?I dare not.
What, do you clasp your arms about me,
Who should be dead by now! (Alas!