With what a joyful heart should I go home then?
Where now, Heaven knows, like him that waits his sentence,
Or hears his passing Bell; but there's my hope still.

_Enter_ Gerrard.

_Ger._ Blessing upon you Master.

_Gos._ Thank ye; leave me,
For by my troth I have nothing now to give thee.

_Ger._ Indeed I do not ask Sir, only it grieves me
To see ye look so sad; now goodness keep ye
From troubles in your mind.

_Gos._ If I were troubled,
What could thy comfort do? prithee _Clause_, leave me.

_Ger._ Good Master be not angry; for what I say
Is out of true love to ye.

_Gos._ I know thou lov'st me.

_Ger._ Good Mr. blame that love then, if I prove so sawcy
To ask ye why ye are sad.

_Gos._ Most true, I am so,
And such a sadness I have got will sink me.

_Ger._ Heaven shield it, Sir.