You would not hurt me, surely?

SEG.
Not I; but those that, iron as the chain
In which they slay me with a lingering death,
Will slay you with a sudden--Who are you?

ROS.
A stranger from across the mountain there,
Who, having lost his way in this strange land
And coming night, drew hither to what seem'd
A human dwelling hidden in these rocks,
And where the voice of human sorrow soon
Told him it was so.

SEG.
Ay? But nearer--nearer--
That by this smoky supplement of day
But for a moment I may see who speaks
So pitifully sweet.

FIFE.
Take care! take care!

ROS.
Alas, poor man, that I, myself so helpless,
Could better help you than by barren pity,
And my poor presence--

SEG.