My lord, for my sake leave these extasies,
And doubt not but we'll find some remedy.
Some cause there is, that lets you not be lov'd;
First that must needs be known, and then remov'd.
What, if my sister love some other knight?
Balthazar.
My summer's day will turn to winter's night.
Lorenzo.
I have already found a stratagem,
To sound the bottom of this doubtful theme.
My lord, for once you shall be rul'd by me;
Hinder me not, whate'er you hear or see:
By force or fair means will I cast about,
To find the truth of all this question out.
Ho, Pedringano!
Enter Pedringano.
Pedringano.
Signior!
Lorenzo.