I must depart, and come to claim my due.

FABELL.
Hah, what is thy due?

COREB.
Fabell, thy self.

FABELL.
O, let not darkness hear thee speak that word,
Lest that with force it hurry hence amain,
And leave the world to look upon my woe:
Yet overwhelm me with this globe of earth,
And let a little sparrow with her bill
Take but so much as she can bear away,
That, every day thus losing of my load,
I may again in time yet hope to rise.

COREB.
Didst thou not write thy name in thine own blood,
And drewst the formall deed twixt thee and me,
And is it not recorded now in hell?

FABELL.
Why comst thou in this stern and horrid shape,
Not in familiar sort, as thou wast wont?

COREB.
Because the date of thy command is out,
And I am master of thy skill and thee.