This shows you are above,
You justicers, that these our nether crimes
So speedily can venge!--But, O poor Gloster!
Lost he his other eye?

Mess.
Both, both, my lord.--
This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer;
'Tis from your sister.

Gon.
[Aside.] One way I like this well;
But being widow, and my Gloster with her,
May all the building in my fancy pluck
Upon my hateful life: another way
The news is not so tart.--I'll read, and answer.

[Exit.]

Alb.
Where was his son when they did take his eyes?

Mess.
Come with my lady hither.

Alb.
He is not here.

Mess.
No, my good lord; I met him back again.