L. Dupe. Now I must play my part; Nature, in women, teaches more than art.
Enter Lord.
Lord. Madam, I have a secret to impart; a sad one too, and have no friend to trust, but only you.
L. Dupe. Your lady, or your children, sick?
Lord. Not that I know.
L. Dupe. You seem to be in health.
Lord. In body, not in mind.
L. Dupe. Some scruple of conscience, I warrant; my chaplain shall resolve you.
Lord. Madam, my soul's tormented.