Fla. O! ’tis too much; I cannot bear all this.
Edm. Nay, nay; why shouldst thou wail and tremble so?
Till this, I thought that grief was only mine;
It is not fair to rob me of all comfort.
I thought thee honest; but, indeed, the world
Doth flatter, fawn, and stroke upon the face,
And sadly censure when the back is turn’d.
Pas. O! dearest mother, say, dost thou not know me?
Edm. Ay, ay, right well; thou’rt one by name, a man:
Thy form is well enough, and thou may’st pass;