HERMIONE.
Gone back! With whom?
BOMELIO.
Her brother.
HERMIONE.
Her brother! How?
BOMELIO.
He secret watched here; and when she should have stay'd
Awhile with me, he rushed out and her from hence convey'd.
HERMIONE.
Confounded in my grief! And can it suff'red be?
And shall he make a brag at home of his despite to me?
First let me die a thousand deaths; draw, run and meet with him.
BOMELIO.
Tarry, my son; it is in vain: they are now[97] at home, I ween.
Let him alone; he will not make great reck'ning of his gain.
HERMIONE.
Wretch that thou art for lingering! everlasting shall be thy pain;
Continual thy complaint, aye-during still thy woe,
Why mad'st thou not more haste to come, and first of all to know?
BOMELIO.
Content thyself, my son; torment not so thy mind:
Assuage the sorrows of thy heart, in hope some help to find.
HERMIONE.
Some help! O father, no; all help comes too late.
I am the man of all alive[98] the most unfortunate.
BOMELIO.
I[99] see thy loyalty, I see thy faithful love,
Else never durst thou this attempt adventured to prove.
Take comfort thereby, my son.