Which, once but crept into the vulgar mouths,
Is hurried here and there, and sworn for troth:
Think, ’tis your love makes me create this guise,
And willing hope to see your virtue rise.
Alca. Lorenzo’s bounty I do more enfold
Than the great’st mine of India’s brightest gold.
Lor. Come, let us in; the next time you shall show
All Don Andrea, not Alcario.
[Exeunt.
Enter Jeronimo trussing of his points; Horatio with pen and ink.