Adam.

Dear master, I can go no further; O, I die for food! here lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewel, kind master.

Orla.

Why, how now, Adam! no greater heart in thee? live a little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little. If this uncouth Forest yield any thing savage, I will either be food for it, or bring it for food to thee: thy conceit is nearer death, than thy powers. For my sake be comfortable, hold death a while at the arm's end: I will be here with thee presently, and if I bring thee not something to eat, I'll give thee leave to die. But if thou diest before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said, thou look'st cheerly. And I'll be with thee quickly; yet thou liest in the bleak air. Come, I will bear thee to some shelter, and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live any thing in this Desart. Cheerly, good Adam.