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GUZMAN.

To whom thou took'st that basket of fair fruit.

Let me attend thee when thou goest again;
I have some skill in med'cine.

NURSE.

I thank you, Sir; I have some skill myself,

And that suffices. She will soon be well.

GUZMAN.

It is a woman, then.—Look in my face:

Look at me stedfastly.—I know it is not.
It is a man; ay, and a man for whom
Thy Lady hath some secret, dear regard.
And so, perhaps, hast thou: where is the harm?

NURSE.

And if there be, where is the harm of loving

Those near akin to us?

GUZMAN.

Yes, fairly said! Who can find harm in that?

NURSE.

Whom should we love—I mean, whom should I love,

But mine own flesh and blood?

GUZMAN.

Thy flesh and blood! lies flesh and blood of thine

So near us, and conceal'd?—A son, perhaps?

NURSE.

I have a son; but where he is conceal'd.

Or far or near, I know not.