Cle. He is not well.
Des. Not well, madam.
Duke. Dull! Shall's to tennis? I have some pistolets
Will pay your borrow'd time, Dessandro.
Des. Your pardon, sir: I am unfit to wait on you.
My life hangs in a dew upon me;
And I have drunk poison.
De F. Ha!
A physician with all speed! Dessandro!
Cle. Dear sir!
Des. Cleara! Lend me thy hand: so—
I'm struck upon a rock. [Swoons.
Cle. He's dead; I shall not overtake him.
Duke. Look to the lady.