Hieronimo, my father craues a word with you.
HIERO. With me, sir? Why, my l[ord], I thought you
had done.
LOR. [aside] No; would he had!
CAS. Hieronimo, I hear
You finde your-selfe agreeued at my sonne,
Because you haue not accesse vnto the king,
And say tis he that intercepts your sutes.
HIERO. Why, is not this a miserable thing, my lord?
CAS. Hieronimo, I hope you haue no cause,
And would be loth that one of your deserts,
Should once haue reason to suspect my sonne,
Considering how I think of you my-selfe.
HIERO. Your sonne Lorenzo? whome, my noble lord?
The hope of Spaine? mine honorable freend?
Graunt me the combat of them, if they dare!
Drawes out his sword.
Ile meet them face-to-face to tell me so!
These be the scandalous reports of such
As loues not me, and hate my lord too much.
Should I suspect Lorenzo would preuent
Or crosse my sute, that loued my sonne so well?
My lord, I am ashamed it should be said.
LOR. Hieronimo, I neuer gaue you cause.
H[I]ERO.
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