ALFONSO.
I am sick and gaping.
LUCREZIA.
Hush!
SANCIA.
To wake in Naples, not this deadly Rome—
It is the air that kills!
ALFONSO.
A wish
I echo from my heart. We are roused as slaves,
As slaves put in subservient offices.
ADRIANA.
To ride with Prince Squillace by your side
After Duke Cesare is such distinction
You need not sulk from, prince.