BOSOLA
I am come to make thy tomb.
DUCHESS
Ha! my tomb! Thou speak’st as if I lay upon my deathbed, Gasping for breath. Dost thou perceive me sick?
BOSOLA
Yes, and the more dangerously, since thy sickness is insensible.
DUCHESS
Thou art not mad, sure: dost know me?
BOSOLA
Yes.
