Lys. Alas! sir, he is ailing, and I fear
Will never mend.
Asan.
Is he in present danger?
Lys. Ay, that he is. A month or less from this
May see the end.
Asan.
Keeps he his bed as yet?
Lys. Nay, not yet, when I left him; but his mind
Turns always to his absent son with longing,