Heywood.
Bliss wait thy wooing; peace of mind its end!
(aside) His knees shake, and his face and hands are wet,
As with a sudden fall of dew—God speed him!
This is a desperate fancy! Exit.
Enter Cecilia.
Cecilia.
Thoughtful sir,
How fare you? Thou'st been reading much of late,
By the moon's light, I fear me?