have with feare and terror clim'd these rocks,
And these too past I feare to meete a thyrd.
I spy no howse, no harbor, meete no creature
To point mee to some shelter; therefore heare
Must starve by famine or expire by could.
O'th sea the whystlinge winds still threaten wreckes,
And flyinge nowe for refuge to the lande
Find nought save desolation. Thoughe these three,
Three dreadfull deaths all spare mee, yeat a fowerth,
I cannot shoone [shun] in my _Palestras_ losse,
More[74] deare to mee then all the world besides,
For the best blood of myne runns in her veynes,
This lyfe breath in her bosom. Oh my _Palestra_!

_Palestr_. Numnes and feare, hungar and sollitude,
Besydes my casket, my _Scribonia's_ losse,
All these at once afflict mee.

_Scrib_. Notheinge mee
More than _Palestra's_ deathe. Ha, who's that spake?
Suer twas som womans voyce! if my _Palestra_
Only for her sake I coulde wishe to live.

_Pal_. Then lyve, my deere _Scribonia_, synce I am only
Spar'd to partake with thee newe miseryes.

_Scrib_. Scarce can I bee perswaded you are shee:
But, bee yt but her shadowe, give mee leave
For her remembrance to imbrace it thus.

_Palest_. These armes at once locke all my lyvinge hopes
In my restored _Scribonia_.

_Scrib_. Nowe I perceave
My comfort is not meare imaginary
But reall and effectuall. Lyve you then?

_Pal_. To triumphe in your safety.

_Scrib_. Possible
That mongst these desert unfrequented rocks
Thou can imadgine such a thing can be
As that which you call safety?

_Pal_. Yes, _Scribonia_,
And comfort too; for, see, I spy a villadge,
A maner and a fayre built monastery,
Just at the foott of this descendeinge hill.
And where, if not amongst religious men,
Shoold we find that's calld charity?

_Scrib_. Thether, then:
Lett[75] us make hast with all the speede we can:
Fyre at the least I hope it [is?] well assured,
Besydes releiffe and harbor.

_Pal_. Can you begge?

_Scrib_. What will not rude necessity compell
Distressed folke to doo? We'll not doo't basely,
For beinge brought upp to musick and to sing,
Demandinge in that kind there charity,
And they perceivinge us much better bred
Then these our present fortunes might deserve,
May move in them compassions.

_Pal_. Lett's retyre
To the backe gate then, there complane our wants
And that which others doo with impudence
Lett us in shame and blushes.

_Scrib_. Som sweete echo
Speake from these walls and answer to our wants,
And ea