ANTONIO: Forth with it!
She direness of her mistress brings? some tale
That earth elsewhere abyssless gaped her up?
That butterfly or bud turn asp to bite her?
CECCO: Sir--she--the maid craves audience with the duke.
ANTONIO: Fetch her, and quickly.
(_CECCO goes._
FULVIA: Reason, Antonio.
She will but whimper, tell what overmuch
Of grief her mistress makes for you: of tears
Your sunny coming will dry in her.
ANTONIO (_putting her aside_): These
Hours come not of any good, but are
Infected with resolved adversity.
This dread!----
FULVIA: They ever dread who have but quit
The shadow of some doom and the dismay.
_Re-enter CECCO, with PAULA weeping._
ANTONIO: Girl! girl! Thy mistress?