[Enter Bremo, a wild man.]
BREMO.
No passengers this morning? what, not one?
A chance that seldom doth befall.
What, not one? then lie thou there, And rest thyself till I have further need, Now, Bremo, sith thy leisure so affords--An endless thing. Who knows not Bremo's strength, Who like a king commands within these woods?
The bear, the boar, dares not abide my sight, But hastes away to save themselves by flight:
The crystal waters in the bubbling brooks, When I come by, doth swiftly slide away, And claps themselves in closets under banks, Afraid to look bold Bremo in the face:
The aged oaks at Bremo's breath do bow, And all things else are still at my command.
Else what would I?
Rent them in pieces and pluck them from the earth, And each way else I would revenge my self.
Why who comes here with whom I dare not fight?
Who fights with me & doth not die the death?
Not one: What favour shews this sturdy stick to those, That here within these woods are combatants with me?
Why, death, and nothing else but present death.