Exeunt.
[Scene Seventh.[1755] The Forest near Sir Raphs House.]
Enter Sir Raph Smith, his Lady, and Will [and Attendants].
S. Raph. Come on, my harts: i faith, it is ill lucke,
To hunt all day, and not kill any thing.
What sayest thou, lady? art thou weary yet?
La. I must not say so, sir.
Sir Ra. Although thou art. 5
Wil. And can you blame her, to be foorth so long,
And see no better sport?