Org. Ay, I think so.
Orl. Nothing but "I think so," and "It may be so!" [Beats him.
Org. What do ye mean, my lord?
Orl. Why, shall I tell you that my love is dead, and can ye not weep for her?
Org. Yes, yes, my lord, I will.
Orl. Well, do so, then. Orgalio.
Org. My lord?
Orl. Angelica is dead. [Orgalio cries.] Ah, poor slave! so, cry no more now.
Org. Nay, I have quickly done.
Orl. Orgalio.