Myrr. How!
Phid. How?—My daughter has been brought to bed.
—Ha! are you dumb?—By whom?
Myrr. Is that a question
For you, who are her father, to demand?
Alas! by whom d’ye think, unless her husband?
Phid. So I believe: nor is it for a father
To suppose otherwise. But yet I wonder
That you have thus conceal’d her labor from us,
Especially as she has been deliver’d