'never.'

This is a dreadful sentence.

Count. Brought you this letter, gentlemen?

[First Gent.] [Ay, madam;]

And for the contents' sake are sorry for our pains.

Count. I prithee, lady, have a better cheer;

If thou engrossest all the griefs [are] thine,

Thou robb'st me of a moiety: he was my son;

But I do wash his name out of my blood,

And thou art all my child. Towards Florence is he?