And their o’er-great gifts may bewitch her eye.
Jer. Here’s no fine villainy, no damned brother!
[Aside.
Lor. But say she should deny his gifts, be all
Composed of hate, as my mind gives me that
She will: what then?
Laz. Then thus: at his return
To Spain, I’ll murder Don Andrea.
Lor. Dar’st thou, spirit?
Laz. What dares not he do, that ne’er hopes t’inherit?