Ay, now occasion serves to stumble him,
That thrust his sickle in my harvest-corn.— [Aside.
Pleaseth your majesty to hear Brusor speak?
Soliman.
To one past cure good counsel comes too late—
Yet say thy mind.
Brusor.
With secret letters woo her, and with gifts.
My lines and gifts will but return my shame.
Lucina.
Hear me, my lord; let me go over to Rhodes,
That I may plead in your affection's cause:
One woman may do much to win another.
Soliman.