But now this lucky meeting shall suffice
To end our business, and defer that kindness.

COBHAM.
Business, my lord? what business should you have
But to be merry? We have no delicates,
But this I'll promise you: a piece of venison,
A cup of wine, and so forth--hunters' fare;
And if you please, we'll strike the stag our selves
Shall fill our dishes with his well-fed flesh.

SCROOP.
That is, indeed, the thing we all desire.

COBHAM.
My lords and you shall have your choice with me.

CAMBRIDGE.
Nay, but the stag which we desire to strike
Lives not in Cowling; if you will consent,
And go with us, we'll bring you to a forest,
Where runs a lusty herd; amongst the which
There is a stag superior to the rest,
A stately beast that, when his fellows run,
He leads the race, and beats the sullen earth,
As though he scorned it, with his trampling hooves.
Aloft he bears his head, and with his breast,
Like a huge bulwark, counter-checks the wind:
And when he standeth still, he stretcheth forth
His proud ambitious neck, as if he meant