+Des.+ I cannot pawn myself to the unworthy ends Of flattery and compliment; but this honour Outbids the value of a thousand lives: What this poor glimpse of expression can show me in; Saints are not more unfeigned in their prayers, Than I to serve you.
+Claud.+ I shall not doubt, how much I may be indebted To your noble wishes; but let me add, sir, he that Lays out for me without my warrant, shall scarcely Put it on my account for thanks--much less, debt.
+Claud.+ I'm not to learn my prayers, sir.
+Des.+ Teach me yours, that I may turn the virtue Of their charms back to your bosom.
+Claud.+ Colonel, mine would hardly please you; I never pray for wars.
+De C.+ That some malignant cloud does interpose The king's cheerful favour, I am most sensible.
+Duke.+ It wou'd spread to me too, if they durst.
+De C.+ Had they but so much virtue left, they durst Own their names by, I should make pale envy blush.
+Duke.+ Come, we'll to cards, and leave them to parl. [_Exeunt._
+Des.+ Yet stay; the air has busy wings. But give The thought consent, and I will take it in soft Whispers from your lip.
+Des.+ I feel it creep in flames through all my blood!
+De F.+ O my faithful Achilles, I came To give you joy!
+De F.+ Of your entertainment under him. Y' have a brave commander, And he a--I cannot be angry enough to tell you what.
+Claud.+ I begin to doubt his wits; he looks so ghastly.
+De F.+ Yes, I see a devil in those eyes, that makes my hair Stare upward. False woman, my love durst scarce Doubt before, what now I find and tremble at. But heaven has wrath in ambush and scorpion-stings!
+De F.+ Duchess, thy perjury and warm engagements To this, this huge impostor!
+Claud.+ Sir, he has crack'd his brains with poetry; Pray, forgive him----
+Des.+ Count, you know what privilege this roof can give You on my anger, or else I should make your frenzy Tongueless. Don't requite it barbarously on her, That gives you leave to live by it. Gather your Scatter'd wits up; go home, sir, and repent.
+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.