Their wish’d-for deaths are sure! yet, do I dread—
For here within, there lurks a messenger
That cautions me, and fain would have me fear.
What, hoa! without, I say! who attends there?
Enter Servant.
Vor. Are there no letters yet arrived from Rome?
Serv. No, my good liege.
Vor. Nor messengers?
Serv. Neither, my gracious sir.
Vor. Retire a while.