Count. For me? what is he?
Pren. One of your followers my Lord I think.
Count. Let him come in.
Mer. Shall I talk with you in private Sir?
Enter a Messenger with a Letter to the Count, he reads.
Count. Count, come to the Court your business calls you thither, I will goe, farewell Sir, I will see your silks some other time: Farewell Lazarillo.
Mer. Will not your Lordship take a piece of Beef with me?
Count. Sir I have greater business than eating; I will leave this Gentleman with you. [Exeunt Count. & Mes.
Laza. No, no, no, no: now doe I feel that strain'd strugling within me, that I think I could prophesie.