FITZ. What woful voice hear I within this wood?
What wretch is there complains of wretchedness?
WAR. A man, old man, bereav'd of all earth's good,
And desperately seeks death in this distress.
FITZ. Seek not for that which will be here too soon,
At least, if thou be guilty of ill-deeds.
Where art thou, son? come, and nearer sit:
Hear wholesome counsel 'gainst unhallow'd thoughts.
WAR. The man is blind. Muffle the eye of day,
Ye gloomy clouds (and darker than my deeds,
That darker be than pitchy sable night)
Muster together on these high-topp'd trees,
That not a spark of light thorough their sprays
May hinder what I mean to execute.
FITZ. What dost thou mutter? Hear me woful man.
Enter MARIAN with meat.
MAR. Good morrow, father.
FITZ. Welcome, lovely maid;
And in good time, I trust, you hither come.
Look if you see not a distressful man,
That to himself intendeth violence:
One such even now was here, and is not far.
Seek, I beseech you; save him, if you may.
MAR. Alas! here is, here is a man enrag'd,
Fastening a halter on a wither'd bough,
And stares upon me with such frighted looks,
As I am fearful of his sharp aspect.
FITZ. What mean'st thou, wretch? say, what is't thou wilt do?