To wound the firmament with forked horns.

COBHAM.
Tis pity such a goodly beast should die.

CAMBRIDGE.
Not so, sir John, for he is tyrannous,
And gores the other deer, and will not keep
Within the limits are appointed him.
Of late he's broke into a several,
Which doth belong to me, and there he spoils
Both corn and pasture. Two of his wild race,
Alike for stealth and covetous encroaching,
Already are removed; if he were dead,
I should not only be secure from hurt,
But with his body make a royal feast.

SCROOP.
How say you, then; will you first hunt with us?

COBHAM.
Faith, Lords, I like the pastime; where's the place>

CAMBRIDGE.
Peruse this writing; it will shew you all,
And what occasion we have for the sport.

[He reads.]

COBHAM.