+De F.+ Privilege! I'll meet thee in a ring of flames, or on the tempest Of some billow, upon whose back the raging north wind strides: Yet I'd not ha' thee lose one spark of thy full man in noise And air; that when next we greet, I may find thee worthy My revenge. This frailty now protects thee. +Claud.+ Uncivil man, know the way back, or I shall Let that justice loose upon you you deserve. +De F.+ Your centaur there, you mean; he must Stare bigger to move a hair of mine. +Claud.+ You sha' not stir, sir; as you love me, do not: Let him die mad. +De F.+ Do kiss him, and clap his cheek. +Claud.+ And circle him in my arms from your pale envy. Does that make you foam? Look ye-- [_Kisses +Dessandro+._ +De F.+ He shall not blossom there. +Claud.+ He shall, though thou dost bribe the Furies With thy soul. +Des.+ Madam, your commands will hold me, till I scorch away! I am in flames and torment, and there's not so much Mercy under heaven, but your own, would let him use That tongue a minute longer. Thou has seen this Sword reeking from hilt to point, and sweating Showers of blood o'er thy head; whilst I bestrid thy Life, and rescu'd it 'gainst many gallant foes: And durst thou tempt it to thine own throat now? Prythee, begone; and let us meet no more. There's something in thy youth I still can love, And will forget to call thee to account for this. Be wise unto thyself, and ask this lady pardon. +De F.+ O my blood! Must I bear this! I am More cold than marble, sure! +Claud.+ Within there! Where's his grace? _Enter +Servant+._ +Serv.+ At cards, madam. +De F.+ O, cry you mercy! your bak'd meats sha' not cool for me; I only wish that they may choke ye. That paper, sir, I sent, wou'd be worth your noble answer. +Des.+ 'Tis there again, and has stopp'd the use I took it for. +De F.+ Ha! I'll make thy name a boy's play, And kill thee on the threshold of thy door. +Des.+ Go, go, take your rest! When you are Recovered, I may own you. +De F.+ Thou hast not blood enough to answer this. [_Exeunt._ _Enter +Pirez+ and +Sampayo+._ +Samp.+ You tell me strange ones. +Pir.+ But true ones. +Samp.+ Nice windings! +Pir.+ This duke can strangely back his purposes, Where they like him. 'Tis a fair lift To Dessandro's fortune; his stars shin'd. +Samp.+ True; she has a spacious fortune; but I shall Tell your lordship what perhaps you know not. +Pir.+ You may.