_Ferdinand._ Thrice you have sav'd my life. Once in the battle You gave it me, next rescued me from suicide, When for my follies I was made to wander With mouths to feed, and not a morsel for them. Now, but for you, a dungeon's slimy stones 5 Had pillow'd my snapt joints. _Osorio._ Good Ferdinand! Why this to me? It is enough you know it. _Ferdinand._ A common trick of gratitude, my lord! Seeking to ease her own full heart. _Osorio._ Enough. A debt repay'd ceases to be a debt. 10 You have it in your power to serve me greatly. _Ferdinand._ As how, my lord? I pray you name the thing! I would climb up an ice-glaz'd precipice To pluck a weed you fancied. _Osorio (with embarrassment and hesitation)._ Why--that--lady-- _Ferdinand._ 'Tis now three years, my lord! since last I saw you. 15 Have you a son, my lord? _Osorio._ O miserable! [_Aside._ Ferdinand! you are a man, and know this world. I told you what I wish'd--now for the truth! She lov'd the man you kill'd! _Ferdinand (looking as suddenly alarmed)._ You jest, my lord? _Osorio._ And till his death is proved, she will not wed me. 20 _Ferdinand._ You sport with me, my lord? _Osorio._ Come, come, this foolery Lives only in thy looks--thy heart disowns it. _Ferdinand._ I can bear this, and anything more grievous From you, my lord!--but how can I serve you here? _Osorio._ Why, you can mouth set speeches solemnly, 25 Wear a quaint garment, make mysterious antics. [_Ferdinand._ I am dull, my lord! I do not comprehend you. _Osorio._ In blunt terms] you can play the sorcerer. She has no faith in Holy Church, 'tis true. Her lover school'd her in some newer nonsense: 30 Yet still a tale of spirits works on her. She is a lone enthusiast, sensitive, Shivers, and cannot keep the tears in her eye. Such ones do love the marvellous too well Not to believe it. We will wind her up 35 With a strange music, that she knows not of, With fumes of frankincense, and mummery-- Then leave, as one sure token of his death, That portrait, which from off the dead man's neck I bade thee take, the trophy of thy conquest. 40 _Ferdinand (with hesitation)._ Just now I should have cursed the man who told me You could ask aught, my lord! and I refuse. But this I cannot do. _Osorio._ Where lies your scruple? _Ferdinand._ That shark Francesco. _Osorio._ O! an o'ersiz'd gudgeon! I baited, sir, my hook with a painted mitre, 45 And now I play with him at the end of the line. Well--and what next?