Soph. Well! you have kill'd me, sir, and there's an end:
But you'll get nothing by the hand, my lord,
When all your cards are counted; there be gamesters
Not far off will set upon the winner,
And make a poor lord of you, ere they've left you.
I'm fetch'd in like a fool to pay the reckoning,
Yet you'll save nothing by't.
Gov. What riddle's this?
Soph. There she stands by thee now, who yet ere midnight
Must lie by the king's side!
Gov. Who speaks that lie?
Soph. One hour will make it true, she cannot 'scape
No more than I from death: you've a great game on't,
An' you look well about you—that's my comfort.
The house is round-beset with armed men,
That know their time when to break in and seize her.
Lady. My lord!
Gov. Tis boldly done to trouble me
When I've such business to despatch. Within there!
Enter Servant.
Gov. Look out, and tell me what thou see'st!