Chrysanthe -- Act V, Scene 4 (Wm. Shakespeare)
[HYAKINTHOS reclines, reading. Enter KLEITOS.]
KLE: You, you, sirrah, where’s my daughter?
HYA: Within her chambers rests my wife, consum’d of an ague. The doctor attends her.
KLE: Alas! A fortnight passed since ill she fell.
What paper were you reading?
HYA: A note of love, penned a month since. I would have you read it. It fits the father as well as the husband. A gift of words has she.
KLE: True, my boy.
I would know more. First let me talk with this philosopher. Sirrah, how does my daughter?
DOC: She burns with fever, my lord, and drifts between sleep and wake.
KLE: Made she no verbal question?
DOC: No though she knew me since a child. Into this world did I draw her and mean to keep her in’t.
KLE: Sir, you speak nobly.
CHR: My sickness grows upon me. Look, sir, I bleed. Away, and let me die.
KLE: No ague this, sirrah, but deathly poison. Vengeance! plague! death! confusion!