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Enter Lady & Magdalen. Lady. Sweet Mr. Bonvil. Tho. I cannot looke on her But Ime as violent as a high-wrought sea In my desires; a fury through my eyes At every glance of hers invades my heart. Lady. What ayles you, servant? are you not well? Bon. 'Tis his humour, Madam; he is accustomed, though it be in company, to hold a dialogue with his thoughts.
On his recovery, his mother provided him a private tutor in Greek and Latin, of the name of Ayles, formerly a fellow of King's College, Cambridge; while she herself, and his nurse, a faithful servant in the family for more than fifty years, encouraged his early propensity for English literature; the former by reading to him and the other by making him recite passages out of tragedies, of which the good woman was passionately fond.
Y. M. Hell, I will flie no farther; since my hand Is guilt in murder it shall sacrifice Some of my apprehenders. Tho. Whats the matter? Deare Sir, what ayles you? Lady. O my Sonne! I feare. Alex. Stand back, goe to; what meanes this rudenes. I say goe to, keepe back. Con. Sir, we must enter: here he is. I charge you Asist us to lay hold on him. Lady.
Avaunt! stand of! she has poysond me, her lips Are sault as sulpher, and her breath infects, Noe scorpions like it. Lady. What ayles you, Sir? Thu. Ha, ha, ha! Those who imagine such prodigious mischiefes Should be more cunning then to be ore reacht By puisne cosnage; Have you no more judgement Then to beleive I lov'd you. Lady. Doe you not love me then? Thu.
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