+Flo.+ He's more than mortal, sure. He strikes like lightning, Himself not passive. But I'll try again, And disenchant the sorcerer. Ay, there I reach'd him home: you bleed; open your doublet; The wound, perhaps, is dangerous. +Asc.+ But a scratch. +Flo.+ Sure I have heard that voice, and seen that face! Velasco, 'tis the king. +Asc.+ My lord, what mean you? +Flo.+ Some planet strike me dead, and fix this arm A monument to tell posterity The treason of my error! Mighty sir, Show mercy to your creature, that my death (Which hastily steals on me) may not be Too foul for after-story. +Asc.+ Rise, Florentio, This act cannot endure the name of treason. +Flo.+ Some surgeons, quick, to search the wound! O sir, How do you feel yourself? Speak life, or I Shall sink down to my centre. +Asc.+ Not a man Stir hence: thy sword was loyal as thy thoughts, And scarce hath pierc'd the skin. O my Florentio! +Flo.+ My lord and king! But why did you engage Your sacred person into danger? 'Twas not well: How many thousand lives depend on yours! +Asc.+ Envy o' th' greatness I possess'd without The merit, and desire to know those perils We wantonly our subjects cast upon On every weak exception, wrought my youth Into this action. Nor can I repent Th' experience of this war. +Flo.+ But, O great sir, Why did your majesty suffer this duel? 'Twas cruel and unkind. How easily This hand might have committed sacrilege! The very thought whereof, like some pale vision, Congeals my blood. +Asc.+ Search not that wound too deep. Florentio! I shall blush--blush like some lady Surpris'd in sin--if you too far examine. +Flo.+ Conceal it not, great sir, though in the speaking Poison steal through my ear. Be confident: Unveil your thoughts. +Asc.+ You needs must hate me, then, And will have justice to throw off that duty You owe me as a subject. Let it be Unspoken still, though smothering it be death. +Flo.+ Good Heaven defend! What is an army of us Exposed to certain slaughter, if compared To th' shortest moment that should serve your quiet? And shall I live, and see my sovereign wear A sorrow on his brow? +Asc.+ Florentio! thou Art glorious in thy virtue. So was I, Till looking on the queen I grew o' th' sudden Darker than midnight. +Flo.+ O my cruel fate! [_Aside._ +Asc.+ I grew a thief, a most ungrateful thief In my designs, and labour'd to have stole The jewel of thy life from thee; a jewel Myself so freely had bestowed upon The merits of thy youth. +Flo.+ My soul foresaw this.