Marc. Madam, I do feel my self not well.
Theo. Alass!
Leoc. How do you Sir.
Eug. Will you drink waters?
Marc. No good Madam, 'tis not
So violent upon me; nor I think
Any thing dangerous: but yet there are
Some things that sit so heavy on my conscience,
That will perplex my mind, and stop my cure,
So that unless I utter 'em. A scratch
Here on my thumb will kill me: Gentlemen,
I pray you leave the room, and come not in
Your selves, or any other till I have
Open'd my self to this most honour'd Lady.
Phil. We will not.
Theo. O blest! he will discover now
His love to me.
Leoc. Now he will tell the Lady
Our Contract. [Exit.
Eug. I do believe he will confess to me
The wrong he did a Lady in the streets;
But I forgive him.
Marc. Madam, I perceive
My self grow worse and worse.