Alon.
Old lord, I cannot blame thee,
5 Who am myself attach’d with weariness,
To the dulling of my spirits: sit down, and rest.
Even here I will put off my hope, and keep it
No longer for my [flatterer]: he is drown’d
Whom thus we stray to find; and the sea mocks
10 Our frustrate search on land. Well, let him go.
Ant. [Aside to Seb.] I am right glad that he’s so out of hope.
Do not, for one repulse, forego the purpose