+Des.+ So streams divide, and ruffle by their banks. My brother's of a safe contracted bosom: Can strangle his labouring rages in their thought; When they do tug like poisons at my breast, Until I give them air. But I'll observe, And creep into men's souls: hug my dear anger To myself, until it gnaw my entrails through, That men may court my patience and discourse, As now they shun it. And when black night has stretch'd her gloomy limbs, And laid her head upon some mountain-top, Bound up in foggy mists, then keep my haunts By some dull-groaning stream, with screeching owls And bats; there pay my broken thoughts Unto thy ghost, Velasco!---- Echo shall wake, and midnight, to help me curse their souls That thrust thee to thy grave; whilst I will hang About night's neck, until the moon do wake To rescue her. _Enter the +Duke+._ +Duke.+ Dessandro, You must not be angry my power came short Of my desires to serve you: we'll try some other way. You see by what engines the times move; The king refers all to his council; and though They do not tie his hands, they hold 'em by a strange Courtesy. I'm but a single looker-on: perhaps They may take notice of me for his brother; That is, when they please, too; but this Came nearest to me; upon the engagement of my honour To deny my friend, and one, whose single faith Had been enough for all the kingdom's safety-- The holding of such a trifle as the citadel. +Des.+ It has recompens'd me in part to know, where That close annoy lay which wounded me i' th' dark: I shall now collect myself against it; and know, My lord, where my poor life and powers are To be prostrate. Could I enlarge them to my wish, They might appear, sir, to your highness' use. +Duke.+ I know how far you can, bravest man; Your worth has taken fire here, where I will Preserve it in a noble flame. My greatest thirst of fame is my expression To men of your merit, who cannot want A friend, whilst I have power to be one: But I am scanted and weak'ned in my desires, Else fam'd Velasco had not yet slept in his dust To please the common hangman; nor men of glorious Parts live shrouded in obscure homes, like Pamphlets out of date. +Des.+ You are the patron of our honoured actions, And all their glory meets and circles in Your fame. +Duke.+ I will disengage you from this forc'd compliment: It keeps me at too great a distance from that Bosom, where I would lodge a friend, Dessandro: I must take't unkindly too, that in the scroll Of all your friends I stand dash'd out, a stranger To your joys. +Des.+ My lord! +Duke.+ But you shall not steal the day so: I'll be One at the ceremony, though the bride tell me In a blush, I came unwish'd-for.