Mi. Gou. Lord, Lord, why, in what a fit
Are you in, husband! so inrag'd, so moov'd,
And for so slight a cause, to read a letter!
Did this letter, love, conteine my death, 180
Should you denie my sight of it, I would not
Nor see my sorrow nor eschew my danger,
But willinglie yeeld me a patient
Unto the doome that your displeasure gave.
Heere is the letter; not for that your incensment 185 [Gives back the letter.]
Makes me make offer of it, but your health,