Castile.
Hieronimo, the reason that I sent
To speak with you, is this.
Hieronimo.
What, so short?
Then I'll be gone, I thank you for't.
Castile.
Nay, stay, Hieronimo—[Goes out]—go call him, son.
Lorenzo.
Hieronimo, my father craves a word with you.
[Re-enter Hieronimo.
Hieronimo.
With me, sir? why, my lord, I thought you had done.