Mer. Send those sad people
That hate the light, and curse society;
Whose thoughts are Graves, and from whose eyes continually
Their melting souls drop out, send those to me;
And when their sorrows are most excellent,
So full that one grief more cannot be added,
My Story like a torrent shall devour 'em.
Hark, it must out; but pray stand close together,
And let not all the world hear.
Leo. Speak it boldly.
Mer. And Royal Lady, think but charitably,
Your Grace has known my breeding.
Qu. Prethee speak it.
Mer. Is there no stranger here? send off your servants,
And yet it must be known: I shake.
Ag. Sweet Mistriss.
Mer. I am abus'd, basely abus'd; do you ghess yet?
Come close, I'll tell ye plainer; I am whor'd,
Ravish'd, and robb'd of Honour.
Leo. Oh the Devil.
Ag. What hellish Slave was this?
The. A wretch, a wretch,
A damned wretch: do you know the Villain, Lady?