_Eug._ Sir, it is their manner, When they have seen the wound especially, The patient being of worth, to go consult, Which they are now at in another room, About the dressing. _Marc._ Madam, I do feel my self not well. _Theo._ Alass! _Leoc._ How do you Sir. _Eug._ Will you drink waters? _Marc._ No good Madam, 'tis not So violent upon me; nor I think Any thing dangerous: but yet there are Some things that sit so heavy on my conscience, That will perplex my mind, and stop my cure, So that unless I utter 'em. A scratch Here on my thumb will kill me: Gentlemen, I pray you leave the room, and come not in Your selves, or any other till I have Open'd my self to this most honour'd Lady. _Phil._ We will not. _Theo._ O blest! he will discover now His love to me. _Leoc._ Now he will tell the Lady Our Contract. [_Exit._ _Eug._ I do believe he will confess to me The wrong he did a Lady in the streets; But I forgive him. _Marc._ Madam, I perceive My self grow worse and worse. _Eug._ Shall I call back your friends? _Marc._ O no, but e'r I do impart What burthens me so sore, let me intreat you, (For there is no trust in these Surgeons) To look upon my wound; it is perhaps My last request: But tell me truely too, That must be in: how far do you imagine It will have pow'r upon me. _Eug._ Sir, I will. _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? _Marc._ Oh. _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._ I will tell you Madam. _Eug._ Tell me and laugh? _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.