Umb. Fri. Breath thee, brave sonne, against the other charge.
Buss. O is it true, then, that my sense first told me?
Is my kind father dead?
Tam. He is, my love; [50]
'Twas the Earle, my husband, in his weed that brought thee.
Buss. That was a speeding sleight, and well resembled.
Where is that angry Earle? My lord! come forth,
And shew your owne face in your owne affaire;
Take not into your noble veines the blood55
Of these base villaines, nor the light reports