Mor. Does Sir Philip hate you?
Henry. With such severity, that even now he is about to ruin these worthy creatures, because they have protected me.
Mor. Indeed! misfortune has made him cruel. That should not be.
Ash. Noa, it should not, indeed, zur.
Mor. It shall not be.
Ash. Shan't it, zur? But how shan't it?
Mor. I will prevent it.
Ash. Wool ye faith, and troth? Now, dame, did not I zay zome good luck would turn up?
Henry. Oh, sir, did I hear you rightly? Will you preserve my friends?—will you avert the cruel arm of power, and make the virtuous happy? my tears must thank you.
[Taking his hand.