And when I want a son I'll send for you. [Exit.
Jasp. These be the fair rewards of them that love,
Oh you that live in freedom never prove
The travail of a mind led by desire.
Enter Luce.
Luce. Why how now, friend, struck with my father's thunder?
Jasp. Struck, and struck dead, unless the remedy
Be full of speed and virtue; I am now,
What I expected long, no more your father's.
Luce. But mine.