_Marc._ For heavens sake, softly: oh, I must needs lay My head down easily, whilst you do it.
_Eug._ Do Sir, 'Tis but an ordinary blow; a child Of mine has had a greater, and been well; Are you faint hearted?
_Eug._ Why do you sigh? There is no danger in the world in this; I wonder it should make a man sit down; What do you mean, why do you kiss my breasts? Lift up your head, your wound, may well endure it.
_Mar._ O Madam, may I not express affection, Dying-affection too I fear, to those That do me favors, such as this of yours.
_Eug._ If you mean so, 'tis well; but what's the business Lies on your conscience?
_Mar._ But I will tell you true Though I do laugh, I know as well as you My wound is nothing, nor the power of earth Could lay a wound upon me in your presence, That I could feel; but I do laugh to think How covertly, how far beyond the reach Of men, and wise men too, we shall deceive 'em, Whilst they imagine I am talking here With that short breath I have, ready to swound At every full point; you my ghostly Mother To hear my sad confession, you and I Will on that bed within, prepar'd for me, Debate the matter privately.
_Eug._ Forbear, Thou wert but now as welcome to this house As certain cures to sick men, and just now This sudain alteration makes thee look Like plagues come to infect it; if thou knewst How loathsome thou wilt be, thou wouldst intreat These wals, or posts to help thee to a hurt, Past thy d[i]ssimulation.
_Eug._ I will not yet, this place I know to be within the reach of tongue, And ears, thou canst not force me; therefore hear me What I will tell thee quickly, thou art born To end some way more disesteem'd than this, Or which is worse, to dye of this hurt yet. Come Gentlemen.
_Leoc._ Madam how is't? is _Mark-antonio_ well? Methinks your looks are alter'd, and I see A strange distemper in you.
_Eug._ I am wrought By that dissembling man, that fellow worth Nothing but kicking.
_Leo._ Gentle Madam speak To me alone let not them understand His fault, he will repent [it] I dare swear.
_Mar._ Stand farther off I pray you Give me some ayre.
_Theo._ Good Brother, will he scape, The Surgeons say there is no danger.
_Leo._ Alas will he not leave This trying all; Madam, I do beseech you Let me but speak to him, you and these by, And I dare almost promise you to make him Shew himself truly sorrowful to you, besides a story I shall open to you, Not put in so good words but in it self So full of chance, that you will easily Forgive my tediousness, and be well pleas'd With that so much afflicts me.