Sham. I would I could not, Sir.
Duke. Our kinsman too.
Sham. All this is but worse, Sir.
Duke. When 'tis at worst,
Yet seeing thee, he lives.
Sham. My Lord—
Duke. He lives,
Believe it as thy bliss, he dies not for't:
Will this make satisfaction for things past?
Sham. Oh my Lord—
Duke. Will it? speak.
Sham. With greater shame to my unworthiness.
Duke. Rise then, we're even: I never found it harder
To keep just with a man: my great work's ended.
I knew your brother's pardon was your suit, Sir.
How ever your nice modesty held it back.