Theo. Sir, as I live she ly'd, only to draw
A just confession from you, which she hath
A happy one for me, ask of this Lady,
Ask of my Brother.

Eug. Sir, she did dissemble,
Your wound is nothing.

Phil. Leocadia's gone. [Exit.

Theo. Rise up, and stir your self, 'tis but amazement
And your imagination that afflicts you,
Look you Sir now.

Mar. I think 'tis so indeed.

Theo. The Surgeons do not come, because they swear
It needs no dressing.

Eug. You shall talk with 'em
Within, for your own fancy.

Mar. Where's your Brother, and Leocadia?

Eug. Within belike.

Mar. I feel my self methinks as well as ever.