DE FLORES
I have eas’d you Of your trouble, think on it; I am in pain, And must be eas’d of you; ’tis a charity, Justice invites your blood to understand me.
BEATRICE
I dare not.
DE FLORES
Quickly!
BEATRICE
O, I never shall! Speak it yet further off, that I may lose What has been spoken, and no sound remain on’t; I would not hear so much offence again…