Here let our British troops in friendship join,
And with the Saxons share our present joy.
[Exeunt.
SCENE V.—THE COUNTRY.
Enter Flavia, Pascentius, and Fool.
Pas. Why, sister, thus should grief usurp thy cheek?
O mingle not so much of lily die
With thy sweet, rosy blood: thou’rt cold as death:
Pine not in silence thus!
Fla. I’ll sit me down and court sweet music’s aid.