duke.
Does he recover?
bertrand.
Wherefore askest thou?
duke.
Nay, chafe me not:—passion but slowly sinks
If still the wind buffet the boiling wave!
bertrand.
Thou threatenest well. I can defy thy wrath.
Another stroke might change the haughty hue
Of thy proud boast.
first attendant.
Nay, be at peace—again
Ye may not quarrel. Soft, good signor, sheath
Your perilous weapon. 'Tis not just we wait
Another issue with decided strife.
duke.
Farewell!
I would depart while better reason yet
Keeps stedfast watch. [Exit.
bertrand.
Cool-hearted wretch!
Thy passion kept not pace with thine occasion,
Else had it minister'd to other issues.
Anger disarm'd me—not thine arm, assassin.
first attendant.
Yet hath he braved it nobly, and, methinks,
A better name hath earn'd in thy report.
second attendant.
Knowest thou thy foe?
bertrand.
What need? His name I wot not.