Orle. Mount every man upon his swiftest horse.
Fly several ways, he cannot bear her far.
Gall. These paths we’ll beat. [Exeunt Galloway and Orleans.
Linc. And this way shall be mine. [Exit.
Cornw. This way, my liege, I’ll ride. [Exit.
Athelst. And this way I:
No matter which way, to seek misery. [Exit.
Longa. I can ride no way, to out-run my shame.
Montr. Yes, Longaville, let’s gallop after too;
Doubtless this doctor was that Irish devil,
That cozened us, the medicine which he gave us
Tasted like his Damasco villany.
To horse, to horse, if we can catch this fiend,
Our forkèd shame shall in his heart blood end.
Longa. O how this mads me, that all tongues in scorn,
Which way soe’er I ride, cry, ’ware the horn! [Exeunt.
