Jer. Art thou a scholar, Don Horatio,
And canst not aim at figurative speech?
Hor. I pray you, pardon me; ’twas but youth’s
Hasty error.
Jer. Come, read then.
Hor. And has hired one to murder you——
Jer. He means to send you to heaven, when
You return from Portugal.
Hor. From Portugal——
Jer. Yet he’s an honest duke’s son.