Pray you, let me behold it.
Jer. I pray you pardon me.
I must confess, my lord, it treats of love,
Love to Andrea, ay, even to his very bosom.
Lor. What news, my lord, hear you from Portugal?
Jer. Who, I? before your grace it must not be;
The badger feeds not, till the lion’s served:
Nor fits it news so soon kiss subjects’ ears,[302]
As the fair cheek of high authority.
Jeronimo lives much absent from the court,