CORVINO.
I shall,
And modesty of your most reverend ears.
And yet I hope that I may say, these eyes
Have seen her glued unto that piece of cedar,
That fine well timber'd gallant; and that here
The letters may be read, through the horn,
That make the story perfect.
THIRD AVOCAT.
His grief hath made him frantic.
(Cœlia swoons.)
CORVINO.
Rare!
Prettily feign'd; again!...
MOSCA.
To gull the court.