_Enter_ Gerrard.
_Ger._ Blessing upon you Master.
_Gos._ Thank ye; leave me,
For by my troth I have nothing now to give thee.
_Ger._ Indeed I do not ask Sir, only it grieves me
To see ye look so sad; now goodness keep ye
From troubles in your mind.
_Gos._ If I were troubled,
What could thy comfort do? prithee _Clause_, leave me.
_Ger._ Good Master be not angry; for what I say
Is out of true love to ye.
_Gos._ I know thou lov'st me.
_Ger._ Good Mr. blame that love then, if I prove so sawcy
To ask ye why ye are sad.
_Gos._ Most true, I am so,
And such a sadness I have got will sink me.
_Ger._ Heaven shield it, Sir.
_Gos._ Faith, thou must lose thy Master.
_Ger._ I had rather lose my neck, Sir: would I knew--
_Gos._ What would the knowledg do thee good so miserable,
Thou canst not help thy self? when all my ways
Nor all the friends I have--
_Ger._ You do not know Sir,
What I can do: cures sometimes, for mens cares
Flow, where they least expect 'em.
_Gos._ I know thou wouldst do,
But farewell _Clause_, and pray for thy poor Master.
_Ger._ I will not leave ye.
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