—Sure she can but counterfeit. Aside.
They all go about her.
Sir Pat. Hah, my Lady dying!
Lean. Sir, I beseech you wait the event. Death! the cunning Devil will dissemble too long and spoil all,—here—carry the dead Corps of my dearest Uncle to his Chamber. Nurse, to your Care I commit him now.
Exeunt with Sir Pat. in a Chair.
All follow but Wittmore; who going the other way, meets Sir Credulous and Lodwick, as before.
Wit. Lodwick! the strangest unexpected News, Sir Patient’s dead!
Sir Cred. How, dead! we have play’d the Physicians to good purpose, i’faith, and kill’d the Man before we administer’d our Physick.
Wit. Egad, I fear so indeed.
Lod. Dead!