That I should dread her message with more fear
Than I would grant to death?
Enter Epicharis.
Come in! Ah, lady, I fear there’s something ill?
Com’st thou from . . . say, bringst thou a secret message?
What is’t? Ay, sit and speak.
EPICHARIS (sitting). Art thou the poet Lucan?
Luc.I am.
Ep. ’Tis well.
I bring this book. (Giving.)