Dear master, I can go no further. O, I die for food! Here lie I down

and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master.

Why, how now, Adam? No greater heart in thee? Live a little, comfort a

little, cheer thyself a little. If this uncouth forest yield anything

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 awhile at the arm’s end. I will here be 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 anything in this

desert. Cheerly, good Adam!