You called my court’s love worthless—so it turned:
I threw away as dross my heap of wealth,
And here you stickle for a piece or two!
First—has she seen you?
Val. Yes.
Duch. She loves you, then.
Val. One flash of hope burst; then succeeded night:
And all’s at darkest now. Impossible!
Duch. We’ll try: you are—so to speak—my subject yet?
Val. As ever—to the death.