Bow. I have runne till I sweat, sweat till my shirt cleaves to my backe, cryed till I am hoarse, and am hoarse till I cannot cry; and yet he will not come backe.
Kath. No matter, fellow, I have here a pledge Which I will zealously devote me to.— There's thy reward: withdraw, my father comes.
[Exit Painter.
Enter Lewes.
Lew. Where are these Lords? the one hath sate with me
And suddenly is risen from the boord,
The other came not at all. Daughter, saw you
The Prince or Pembrooke which way they are gone?
Kath. Backe to their Tents, my Lord, as I suppose.
Lew. Back to their tents and take no leave of us?
Nay, then I feare their meaning was too smoothe
And some black Treason cover'd in their smiles.
Which we will seeke immediately to prevent.
[Exeunt.
Actus Secundus.