De F. Do kiss him, and clap his cheek.
Claud. And circle him in my arms from your pale envy.
Does that make you foam? Look ye— [Kisses Dessandro.
De F. He shall not blossom there.
Claud. He shall, though thou dost bribe the Furies
With thy soul.
Des. Madam, your commands will hold me, till I scorch away!
I am in flames and torment, and there's not so much
Mercy under heaven, but your own, would let him use
That tongue a minute longer. Thou has seen this
Sword reeking from hilt to point, and sweating
Showers of blood o'er thy head; whilst I bestrid thy
Life, and rescu'd it 'gainst many gallant foes:
And durst thou tempt it to thine own throat now?
Prythee, begone; and let us meet no more.
There's something in thy youth I still can love,
And will forget to call thee to account for this.
Be wise unto thyself, and ask this lady pardon.
De F. O my blood! Must I bear this! I am
More cold than marble, sure!
Claud. Within there! Where's his grace?
Enter Servant.
Serv. At cards, madam.
De F. O, cry you mercy! your bak'd meats sha' not cool for me;
I only wish that they may choke ye. That paper, sir,
I sent, wou'd be worth your noble answer.