Orl. Thanks to your grace: but, my good lord, for my daughter—
Duke. You know what I have said.
Orl. And remember what I have sworn. She’s more honest, on my soul, than one of the Turks’ wenches, watched by a hundred eunuchs.
Lod. So she had need, for the Turks make them whores.
Orl. He’s a Turk that makes any woman a whore; he’s no true Christian, I’m sure. I commit your grace.
Duke. Infelice.
Inf. Here, sir.
Lod. Signor Friscobaldo.
Orl. Frisking again? Pacheco.