So I might thus expire.
Mar. Pray hear me, Sir, before you do condemn me.
Amb. I will hear nothing but thy Death pronounc’d,
Since thou hast wounded him, if it be mortal.
Have I not charg’d thee on thy Life, Marcel,
Thou shouldst not hold Discourse with him of any kind?
Mar. I did foresee my Fate, but could not shun it.
[Takes his Sword and goes out.
Amb. What ho! [Biscay, a Surgeon]; on your Lives a Surgeon; where be the Rascals? [Goes out.
Silv. I would not have a Surgeon search my Wound