Enter Evergreen, who bows, then looking at Sir Philip, clasps his hands together, and weeps.
Does this desolation affect the old man?—Come near me—Time has laid a lenient hand on thee.
Everg. Oh, my dear master! can twenty years have wrought the change I see?
Sir Philip. No; [Striking his breast.] 'tis the canker here that hath withered up my trunk;—but are we secure from observation?
Everg. Yes.
Sir Philip. Then tell me, does the boy live?
Everg. He does, and is as fine a youth—
Sir Philip. No comments.
Everg. We named him—
Sir Philip. Be dumb! let me not hear his name. Has care been taken he may not blast me with his presence?