Upon whose face henceforth I fear to look,
Lest I should fancy in its innocent brow
Some strange shame written.
Enter LUCY.
Sister, an anxious word with you.
From out the chamber, where my wife but now
Held talk with her encroaching friend, I heard
(Not of set purpose heark'ning, but by chance)
A voice of chiding, answer'd by a tone
Of replication, such as the meek dove