Nothing but murmurings and priuate whispers,
Tending to seuerall ends: but all conclude,
The King was too seuere for such a Fact.
Enter Atlanta.
Aur. Atlanta, welcome, Oh my child, my child.
There lies the summe of all my miserie!
Atl. Gracious Madame, doe but heare me speake.
Aur. Atlanta, I should wrong thy merit else.
What wouldst thou say?
Something I know, to mitigate my griefe.