I am schooled to hide my thoughts, and shall obey:
Tho’in your sight they wander to the duke,
Who for that grace in such sad sickness pines.
A lord so loving, and so fair a lady,
Would she be also kind,—would make their courtiers
As envied as themselves.
D.Enough, forget him.
But say you that he is really sick, Ricardo?
R. Hopelessly he languishes. I do not think
He is long for this world.