And lastlie, how to drive the Wolfe away,
That seeke to make the little Lambes their pray.

_Allen_. Ah, have you care to drive the Wolfe away
From sillie creatures wanting intellecte,
And yet would suffer your devouring thoughts,
To suck the blood of your dead brothers sonne!
As pure and innocent as any Lambe
_Pertillo_ was, which you have fed upon.
But things past helpe may better be bewaild
With carefull teares, then finde a remedie;
Therefore, for feare our practise be espide,
Let us to question of our husbandrie.
How many Lambes fell from the middle flock,
Since I myselfe did take the latter view?

_Enter Vesuvio, Turqual, Alberto_.

_Fall_. Some vive and twenty, whereof two are dead.
But three and twenty scud about the fields,
That glads my hart to ze their iollitie.

_Vesu_. This is the man, conferring of his Lambes,
That slew a Lambe worth all his flock besides.

_Allen_. What is the time to let the Weathers blood?
The forward spring, that hath such store of grasse,
Hath fild them full of ranke unwholsome blood,
Which must be purg'd; else, when the winter comes,
The rot will leave me nothing but their skinnes.