Small time remains
To show thee, Foscarini, ere we part,
The prince merged in the friend:—I was thy father’s.
Say, if my efforts can in aught avail
To do thee service?
Foscarini.
I do prize your goodness:
Will tax it for one boon. There is a maid
Within this town, I speak not of her beauty,
For that were idle, and you’d smile perchance,