This letter came not to Andrea’s hands.
Hor. ’Twas happiness indeed.
Bel. Was it not you, Andrea, questioned me
’Bout love?
And. No, Bell’-Imperia.
Belike, ’twas false Andrea; for the first
Object mine eyes met was that most accurst,
Which, I much fear me, by all signs portends
Most doubtful wars and dangerous pointed ends
To light upon my blood.