Rol. He talks, 'tis true; he is licens'd: leave him,
We now are Duke alone, Latorch, secur'd;
Nothing left standing to obscure our prospect,
We look right forth, beside, and round about us,
And see it ours with pleasure: only one
Wish'd joy there wants to make us to possess it,
And that is Edith, Edith, she that got me
In blood and tears, in such an opposite minute,
As had I not at once felt all the flames
And shafts of Love shot in me (his whole armory)
I should have thought him as far off as Death.
Lat. My Lord, expect a while, your happiness
Is nearer than you think it, yet her griefs
Are green and fresh, your vigilant Latorch
Hath not been idle; I have leave already
To visit her, and send to her.
Rol. My life.
Lat. And if I find not out as speedy ways,
And proper instruments to work and bring her
To your fruition; that she be not watch'd
Tame to your Highness wish, say you have no servant
Is capable of such a trust about you,
Or worthy to be Secretary of your pleasure.
Rol. Oh my Latorch, what shall I render thee
For all thy travels, care, and love?
Lat. Sir, one suit, which I will ever importune, till you grant me.
Rol. About your Mathematicians?
Lat. Yes, to have
The Scheme of your Nativity judg'd by them,
I have't already erected; O my Lord,
You do not know the labour of my fears,
My doubts for you are such as cannot hope
Any security, but from the Stars;
Who, being rightly ask'd, can tell man more
Than all power else, there being no power beyond them.
Rol. All thy petitions still are care of us,
Ask for thy self.
Lat. What more can concern me, than this?