The weight that presses on my heart, and then
Be glad as thou art.
Mon. What means this, my lord?
Who hath seen gladness on Montalba’s mien?
Pro. Why, should not all be glad who have no sons
To tarnish their bright name?
Mon. I am not used
To bear with mockery.
Pro. Friend! By yon high heaven,
I mock thee not! ’Tis a proud fate to live