La. Alb. You ask
If he is safe, and I say safe enough,
Then drops the curtain of your modesty,
And you cry of my brother. Faith, you'll have
Me set about with this till I believe
My brother is the king of England!
Mar. O,
I'm wretched, wretched!
La. Alb. Patience! He'll be here.
True, 'tis most beggarly of him to lag,