Con. I stay, your grace,—why should I go? My father
Hath bid me hear thee: and ’tis nought to me.
Say what thou wouldst: speak on, nor be officious
To suit thy meaning to me, for there’s nothing
I can believe or doubt.
Ph.O, Constance, think not
That could I end thy sorrow by denial
Of what thou hast heard, I would not. All is true.
My kindest office is to unmask the ill
That this ill hath prevented, and to show thee