Scene 19.
Enter a Maid as to her Lady, the Lady Hypocondria.
MAid.
O Madam, my Master is comming home, being wounded in a Duel.
The Lady ••wouns.
Maid.
Help, help, my Lady, my Lady.
Enter Joan her Maid.
Ioan.
What's the matter?
Maid.
My Lady is kill'd with the report of my Masters being hurt.
Ioan.
It were fit you should be punish'd for telling her of it.
They raise the Lady, and bow her forward: She revives, but with a groan.
Lady groans, Oh, oh.
Ioan.
Take life again: for my Master is not so much hurt, as to be in dan∣ger of Death.
Hypocon.
Do you speak this as a known truth, or for to recover me?
Ioan.
As a truth upon my Conscience, Madam.
Hypocon.
Then I charge you do not discover my Passion.
Ioan.
We shall not.
Exeunt.