John. Why, the man has his Mare again, and all's well, Frederick,
The Duke professes freely he's her Husband.
Fred. 'Tis a good hearing.
John. Yes, for modest Gentlemen.
I must present ye: may it please your Grace,
To number this brave Gentleman, my friend,
And noble kinsman, amongst those your servants.
Duke. O my brave friend! you shower your bounties on me
Amongst my best thoughts, Signior, in which number
You being worthily dispos'd already,
May place your friend to honour me.
Fred. My love, Sir,
And where your Grace dares trust me, all my service.
Pet. Why! this is wondrous happy: But now Brother,
Now comes the bitter to our sweet: Constantia.
Duke. Why, what of her?
Pet. Nor what, nor where, do I know!
Wing'd with her fears last night, beyond my knowledge,
She quit my house, but whither—
Fred. Let not that—
Duke. No more good Sir, I have heard too much.