Gos. Hard heart, I’le follow:  Pray ye all go in again, and pray be merry, I have a weighty business, (give my Cloak there,)

Enter Servant (with a Cloak.)

Concerns my life, and state, (make no enquiry,)
This present hour befaln me:  with the soonest
I shall be here again:  nay pray go in, Sir,
And take them with you, ’tis but a night lost, Gentlemen.

Van. Come, come in, we will not lose our meat yet, Nor our good mirth, he cannot stay long from her, I am sure of that.

Gos. I will not stay; believe, Sir. [Exit.

Gertrude, a word with you.

Ger. Why is this stop, Sir?

Gos. I have no more time left me, but to kiss thee, And tell thee this, I am ever thine:  farewel wench. [Exit.

Ger. And is that all your Ceremony?  Is this a wedding? 
Are all my hopes and prayers turn’d to nothing? 
Well, I will say no more, nor sigh, nor sorrow;
Till to thy face I prove thee false.  Ah me! [Exit.

ACTUS QUINTUS.  SCENA PRIMA.

Enter Gertrude, and a Boor.

Ger. Lead, if thou thinkst we are right:  why dost thou make These often stands? thou saidst thou knewst the way.

Bo. Fear nothing, I do know it:  would ’twere homeward.

Ger. Wrought from me by a Beggar? at the time
That most should tye him? ’tis some other Love
That hath a more command on his affections,
And he that fetcht him, a disguised Agent,
Not what he personated; for his fashion
Was more familiar with him, and more powerful
Than one that ask’d an alms:  I must find out
One, if not both:  kind darkness be my shrowd,
And cover loves too curious search in me,
For yet, suspicion, I would not name thee.

Bo. Mistris, it grows somewhat pretty and dark.

Ger. What then?

Bo. Nay, nothing; do not think I am afraid, Although perhaps you are.

Ger. I am not, forward.

Bo. Sure but you are? give me your hand, fear nothing. 
There’s one leg in the wood, do not pull me backward: 
What a sweat one on’s are in, you or I? 
Pray God it do not prove the plague; yet sure
It has infected me; for I sweat too,
It runs out at my knees, feel, feel, I pray you.

Ger. What ails the fellow?

Bo. Hark, hark I beseech you, Do you hear nothing?

Ger. No.

Bo. List:  a wild Hog, He grunts:  now ’tis a Bear:  this wood is full of ’em, And now, a Wolf, Mistress, a Wolf, a Wolf, It is the howling of a Wolf.

Ger. The braying of an Ass, is it not?

Bo. Oh, now one has me; Oh my left haunch, farewel.

Ger. Look to your Shanks, Your Breech is safe enough, the Wolf’s a Fern-brake.