Enter Leandro.
Lean.
He's gone out
Now, if I could but see her: she is not this way:
How nastily he keeps his house! my Chamber,
If I continue long, will choak me up,
It is so damp: I shall be mortified
For any woma[n], if I stay a month here:
I'le in, and strike my Lute, that sound may call her.
[Exit.