Sus. That I may bring you through one pasture more
Up to yon knot of trees; amongst those shadows
I’ll vanish from you, they shall teach me how.
Frank. Why, ’tis granted; come, walk, then.
Sus. Nay, not too fast:
They say slow things have best perfection;
The gentle shower wets to fertility,
The churlish storm may mischief with his bounty;
The baser beasts take strength even from the womb,
But the lord lion’s whelp is feeble long. [Exeunt.
SCENE III.—A Field with a clump of trees.
Enter the Dog.
Dog. Now for an early mischief and a sudden!
The mind’s about it now; one touch from me
Soon sets the body forward.
Enter Frank and Susan.
Frank. Your request
Is out; yet will you leave me?
Sus. What? so churlishly?
You’ll make me stay for ever,
Rather than part with such a sound from you.