Count. O, thou art then, some young adventurer,
Some roving knight, a hero in disguise,
Who, scorning forms of vulgar ceremony,
No leave obtain'd, waiting no invitation,
Enters our castles, wanders o'er our halls,
To succour dames distress'd, or pilfer gold.
Theod. There is a source of reverence for thee here,
Forbids me, though provok'd, retort thy taunts.
Count. If I endure this more, I shall grow vile