Scaena prima.
Enter Seberto, Curio.
Seb.
Now, o' my conscience, we have lost him utterly,
He's not gon home: we heard from thence this morning,
And since our parting last at Rodorigo's,
You know what ground we have travel'd.
Cur.
He's asleep sure:
For if he had been awake, we should have met with him:
'Faith let's turn back, we have but a fruitlesse journey;
And to hope further of Alindas recovery,
(For sure she'l rather perish then returne)
Is but to seeke a Moth i'th Sunne.
Seb.
We'l on sure;
Something we'l know, some cause of all this fooling,
Make some discovery.
Cur.
Which way shall we cast then,
For all the Champion Country, and the villages,
And all those sides?
Seb.
We'l crosse these woods a while then:
Here if we faile, we'l gallop to Segonia
Add if we light of no news there, heare nothing;
We'l even turn fairly home, and coast the other side.
Cur.
He may be sicke, or faln into some danger;
He has no guide, nor no man to attend him.
Seb.
He's well enough, he has a travel'd body,
And though he be old, he's tough, and will endure well;
But he is so violent to finde her out,
That his anger leads him a thousand wild goose chases:
Ile warrant he is well.
Cur.
Shall we part company?
Seb.
By no means, no: that were a sullen businesse:
No pleasure in our journey: Come, let's crosse here first,
And where we finde the paths, let them direct us. Exeunt.