For I am lock'd up here, and watch'd at all hours,
That 'tis impossible for me to 'scape.
Jasp. Nothing more possible: within this coffin
Do you convey yourself; let me alone,
I have the wits of twenty men about me,
Only I crave the shelter of your closet
A little, and then fear me not; creep in
That they may presently convey you hence.
Fear nothing, dearest love, I'll be your second;
Lie close, so, all goes well yet. Boy!