CAS. Hieronimo, the reason that I sent
To speak with you is this—
HIERO. What? so short?
Then I'll be gone; I thank you for't!
CAS. Nay, stay, Hieronimo; go call him, son.
LOR. Hieronimo, my father craves a word with you.
HIERO. With me, sir? Why, my lord, I thought you had done.
LOR. [aside] No; would he had!
CAS. Hieronimo, I hear
You find yourself aggrieved at my son,
Because you have not access unto the king,
And say 'tis he that intercepts your suits.
HIERO. Why, is not this a miserable thing, my lord?
CAS. Hieronimo, I hope you have no cause,
And would be loath that one of your deserts
Should once have reason to suspect my son,
Considering how I think of you myself.
HIERO. Your son Lorenzo? whom, my noble lord?
The hope of Spain? mine honourable friend?
Grant me the combat of them, if they dare!