Have I not sometimes shewn thee certain sonnets
Writ in Sicilian speech?
Man.Eh! Michael Rosso?
Mar. ’Tis he. I think he’d love to do my bidding
In a more dangerous matter. Give me leave,
I’ll bring him here to-night.
Man.I had thought of him,
But shrank from taxing his good-will. And yet—
(Aside.) For his own sake ’twere kind ... and Margaret asks it ...
Secrets, they say, discover sympathies.—