Exeunt. 2040
Dor. Go thou with speed, euen as thou holdst me deare,
Returne in haste.
Enter Ladie Anderson.
L. An. Now sir, what cheare? come tast this broth I bring.
Doro. My griefe is past, I feele no further sting.
L. And. Where is your dwarfe? Why hath hee left you sir?
Doro. For some affaires, hee is not traueld farre.
L. And. If so you please, come in and take your rest.
Doro. Feare keepes awake a discontented brest.
Exeunt. 2050