Inf. I saw no messenger, heard no such news.
Doct. Trust me you did, sweet lady.
Duke. La, you now!
1st Ser. Yes, indeed, madam.
Duke. La, you now.—’Tis well, good knaves!
Inf. You ha’ slain him, and now you’ll murder me.
Duke. Good Infelice, vex not thus thyself,
Of this the bad report before did strike
So coldly to thy heart, that the swift currents
Of life were all frozen up——
Inf. It is untrue,
’Tis most untrue, O most unnatural father!
Duke. And we had much to do by art’s best cunning,
To fetch life back again.