First Cairl. See, yon stretch'd body moves its bloody hand:
It must be him.
(Voice again.) Baldwick!
Voice. Ah, but thou dost! I have sat by thy fire,
And heard thy merry tales, and shar'd thy meal.
Third Cairl. Good holy saints! and art thou Athelbald?
Woe! woe is me to see thee in such case!
What shall I do for thee?
Voice. If thou hast any love of mercy in thee,
Turn me upon my face that I may die;
For lying thus, see'st thou this flooded gash?
The glutting blood so bolsters up my life
I cannot die.
Third Cairl. I will, good Athelbald. Alack the day!
That I should do for thee so sad a service!
(turns the soldier on his face.)
Voice. I thank thee, friend, farewel! (dies.)
Third Cairl. Farewel! farewel! a merry soul thou wert,
And sweet thy ploughman's whistle in our fields.
Sec. Cairl. (starting with horrour.) Good heaven forefend! it moves!
First Cairl. What dost thou see?
