ly apartments, reaching to fill
all the corners of my brother's once noble heart.

GRAY
We are his friends.

SIMON
Fie, Sir, do not weep. How these rogues will triumph! Shall I whip off
their heads, father? (_Draws_.)

LOVEL
Come, Sir, though this shew handsome in you, being his son, yet the law
must have its course.

SIMON
And if I tell you the law shall not have its course, cannot ye be
content? Courage, father; shall such things as these apprehend a man?
Which of ye will venture upon me?--Will you, Mr. Constable self-elect?
or you, Sir, with a pimple on your nose, got at Oxford by hard drinking,
your only badge of loyalty?

GRAY
'Tis a brave youth--I cannot strike at him.

SIMON
Father, why do you cover your face with your hands? Why do you fetch
your breath so hard? See, villains, his heart is burst! O villains, he
cannot speak. One of you run for some water: quickly, ye knaves; will ye
have your throats cut? (_They both slink off_.) How is it with you, Sir
Walter? Look up, Sir, the villains are gone. He hears me not, and this
deep disgrace of treachery in his son hath touched him even to the
death. O most distuned, and distempered world, where sons talk their
aged fathers into their graves! Garrulous and diseased world, and still
empty, rotten and hollow _talking_ world, where good men decay, states
turn round in an endless mutability, and still for the worse, nothing is
at a stay, nothing abides but vanity, chaotic vanity.--Brother, adieu!

There lies the parent stock which gave us life,
Which I will see consign'd with tears to earth.
Leave thou the solemn funeral rites to me,
Grief and a true remorse abide with thee.

(_Bears in the body_.)

SCENE.--_Another Part of the Forest_.

MARGARET (_alone_)
It was an error merely, and no crime,
An unsuspecting openness in youth,
That from his lips the fatal secret drew,
Which should have slept like one of nature's mysteries,
Unveil'd by any man.
Well, he is dead!
And what should Margaret do in the forest?
O ill-starr'd John!
O Woodvil, man enfeoffed to despair!
Take thy farewell of peace.
O never look again to see good days,
Or close thy lids in comfortable nights,
Or ever think a happy thought again,
If what I have heard be true.--
Forsaken of the world must Woodvil live,
If he did tell these men.
No tongue must speak to him, no tongue of man
Sal