And I will bathe it in a thousand Tears, [Goes to untie his Arm.
And breathe so many Sighs into your Wound—
Silv. Let that slight hurt alone, and search this—here. [To his Heart.
Cleo. How! are you wounded there,
And would not let us know it all this while?
Silv. I durst not tell you, but design’d to suffer,
Rather than trouble you with my Complaints:
But now my Pain is greater than my Courage.
Fran. Oh, he will tell her, that he loves her sure. [Aside.
Cleo. Sit down and let me see’t. [He sits down, she puts her Hand into his Bosom.