Duke. He has too much of Venus in his mixture; all his
Desires would be at home still in the circle of those
Eyes: the other is all fire, and thinks that fame
Too cheap, that's found so near; and there will
Want such men abroad.
Claud. But where's my honour, duke?
Duke. Lock'd in my heart and cares: the king must die,
Claudilla, to smoothe the way, and lift us to our wishes.
Claud. That still is talk'd on.
Duke. His last glass is now turn'd, and runs apace.
He gives thee to Dessandro, and is your guest; and
That night receives eternal thanks for't. Then
(My fair) Dessandro cannot want lustre and honour for
Your bed, nor thy commands, what all Castile can give.
Claud. I understand not, sir.
Duke. Thou shalt in time. O my Claudilla! my best and nearest
Joy, our loves have been entire as a flame: one centre
To our thoughts and wishes; and crown our bosoms with
Delight and safety. But they are come.
Enter De Castro and Dessandro.
Claud. I have not known so little of his fame
To be a stranger to his worth. Sir, I honour it:
Nor am I so proud and dark in my opinion,
To think I stand upon myself, but stoop in
Honour to one of his deserts and blood. This is
The way, my lord, I ever summ'd up man, and set
His titles down but for cyphers.