Fr. Seb. Have I my ears? Are these your words, my lord?
Or does some pitying angel alchemize
Them into sounds more fit to reach my weak
And trembling age?
Hen. You hear even as I speak.
'Tis true that Hubert pitched his love full high.
Good manners had not o'ershot the royal bow;
But take my word no harm shall come to him.
Fr. Seb. He'll need a friend, my liege, for dangers stride
In wake of this rash marriage.