_R._ Your ladyship Means to reproach me with late hours: but if I had thought my singing could be heard.... 1200 _D._ Your singing? How musical the world is now-a-days— Yet I heard not your singing. _R._ I am very glad: I feared I had offended. For myself I can assure you that though some things here Remind me of Milan, where the Duke.... _D._ Remember, Speak not to me of Milan. _R._ A thousand pardons, I am schooled to hide my thoughts, and shall obey: Tho’in your sight they wander to the duke, Who for that grace in such sad sickness pines. A lord so loving, and so fair a lady, 1210 Would she be also kind,—would make their courtiers As envied as themselves. _D._ Enough, forget him. But say you that he is really sick, Ricardo? _R._ Hopelessly he languishes. I do not think He is long for this world. _D._ So consumed with folly! _R._ I too thought that his love was folly, lady, Till I came here: but now I know he is wise. _D._ I half suspect he sent you here to try me With soft insinuations. _R._ ’Twere his wish I do not doubt: although he spake no word 1220 That I could wrest to such instruction, madam. _D._ You serve him well. _R._ May all your servants ever Love you as I do him. Yet that’s too much. _D._ ’Tis all too much. But I can truly boast I have very faithful servants. There’s Sir Gregory: I think you could not better him at Milan. What say you? _R._ Sir Gregory is the very mirror Of knightly reverence. _D._ He is sadly deaf. Then there’s my secretary. _R._ Your secretary? _D._ Frederick. _R._ Ah, Frederick: on so short acquaintance How can I judge? _D._ You have a faculty 1231 Of observation, which I am pleased to prove: Besides, since you are a stranger,—as you note Our clocks,—your eyes, no doubt, while yet they are fresh, Will pounce upon a thousand little things, Which we are blind to, seeing every day. Tell me your first impression. _R._ Your ladyship Would never task me thus, but in security Of finding perfect praise. I’ll rather think You ask me my opinion, as do poets, 1240 To judge of my capacity. _D._ Nay, nay. Nor will I force your flattery. Speak your mind. I hold him not in wondrous estimation. What of his person? _R._ He has a good deportment, Yet stoops a little. _D._ You have a soldier’s eye. He is tall, and hath the scholar’s negligence. A martial stiffness were much out of place. _R._ True: and his open grace seems less a manner Than very nature; being itself unlinked With any distant bearing.