Bell. Not all in health, my lord.
Hip. Keep off.
Bell. I do.—
Hard fate when women are compelled to woo. [Aside.
Hip. This paper does speak nothing.
Bell. Yes, my lord,
Matter of life it speaks, and therefore writ
In hidden character: to me instruction
My master gives, and, ’less you please to stay
Till you both meet, I can the text display.
Hip. Do so; read out.
Bell. I am already out:
Look on my face, and read the strangest story!
Hip. What, villain, ho?——
Re-enter Servant.
Ser. Call you, my lord?