Pir. It must be put to an account somewhere.
Samp. To return his challenge and honour with such a scorn
Must work such a spirit to high extremes.
Pir. The saddest story is his sister.
Samp. A rose new-blown, and flung aside to wither in
Her sweets! Poor innocence! that has much chang'd
My opinion of Dessandro.
Pir. His resolution and ambition are like vast trees,
Whose spreading tops hide their own roots
From the kind sun.
Samp. Let out unto so vast a pride, as shades all his natural
Virtues, or makes 'em grow up rank and sour.
The event will tell us all.
Pir. I wish it without blood. Your lordship's for the solemnity?
Samp. My attendance ties me to his majesty's person.
Pir. My best wishes to your lordship. [Exeunt.