My lord, we discharge your presence from our court.
Tib. What means the duke?
Gon. And if to-morrow past you rest in Urbin,
The privilege of an ambassador
Is taken from you.
Tib. Good, your grace: some reason?
Gon. What! twice admonish’d, twice again offending,
And, now grown blushless? You promis’d to get into
Her chamber, she to get a priest:
Indeed she wish’d me tell you she confess’d it: 680
And there, despite all father’s jealous fears,
To consummate full joys. Know, sir, our daughter
Is our daughter, and has wit at will
To gull a thousand easy things like you.
But, sir, depart: the parliament prepar’d,
Shall on without you: all the court this night
Shall triumph that our daughter has escaped
Her honour’s blowing up: your end you see
We speak but short but full, Socratice.
[Exeunt all but Hercules and Tiberio.
Tib. What should I think, what hope, what but imagine 690
We speak but short but full, Socratice.
Of these enigmas?[271]
Herc. Sure, sir, the lady loves you
With violent passion, and this night prepares
A priest with nuptial rites, to entertain you
In her most private chamber.
Tib. This I know,
With too much torture, since means are all unknown
To come unto these ends. Where’s this her chamber?
Then what means shall without suspicion
Convey me to her chamber? O these doubts
End in despair——