Men. Much I fear it, But nothing that way yet can win for certain. I'le tell your grace within this hour.
Ant. A stranger?
Men. Without all doubt.
Ant. But how should he come to her?
Men. There lies the marrow of the matter hid yet.
Ant. Hast thou been with thy wife?
Men. No Sir, I am going to her.
Ant. Go and dispatch, and meet me in the garden, And get all out ye can. [Exit.
Men. I'le doe my best Sir. [Exit.
Tim. Blest be thy wife, thou wert an arrant ass else.