Cla. Will you leave me, then?
Bel. Prethee, poore heart, lament not; we shall meet, And all these stormes blowe over.
Cla. Your tempests past; mine now begins to rise But Ile allay its violence with my eyes.
Exeunt omnes.
Actus Quartus.
SCENE 1.
Enter Magdalen, Timothy and Alexander.
Ma. Run, good sweet Timothy; search the barnes, the stab[les], while I looke in the Chambers. Should she be lost or come to any harme my lady will hang us all. Why dost not fly?
Tim. Hey day, if her feet walke as fast as thy tongue, sh[e's] far enough ere this time. What a stir you make! Were you, as shee is, with your sweet heart, you would [be] pursud, would you? You would be hangd as soone. Al[as], good gentlewoman, heaven speed her!
Ma. You will not goe then?