Clow. I thanke your Madame-ship, Ime glad o’ this,
Tis the best hit that euer Fencer gaue. |Exeunt.|
Enter Atticus, Iago, Sforza, and Nicanor.
Att. How took the Girle her death? did she not raue?
Exclaime vpon me for the Iustice done
By a iust Father? how tooke Naples sonne
His Exile from our Land? What, no man speake?
My Lords, whence springs this alteration?
Why stand you thus amaz’d? Methinks your eyes
Are fixt in Meditation; and all here