"Cicely and Emlyn, get you into the house.

I, and any who will bide with me, stay here to see this business out.

When I am down, yield yourself.

Afterwards I think that the King will give you justice, if you can come to him." "I'll not go," she wailed; "I'll die with you." "Nay, you shall go," he said, stamping his foot, and, as he spoke, an arrow hissed between them.

"Emlyn, drag her hence ere she is shot.
Swift, I say, swift, or God's curse and mine rest on you.