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All this is very true. When saw you, sir,
When saw you now, Baldazzar, in the frigid
Ungenial Britain which we left so lately,
A heaven so calm as this--so utterly free
From the evil taint of clouds?--and he did say?
Bal. No more, my lord, than I have told you, sir:
The Count Castiglione will not fight,
Having no cause for quarrel.
Pol. Now this is true-
All very true. Thou art my friend, Baldazzar,
And I have not forgotten it--thou'lt do me
A piece of service; wilt thou go back and say
Unto this man, that I, the Earl of Leicester,
Hold him a villain?--thus much, I prythee, say
Unto the Count--it is exceeding just
He should have cause for quarrel.
Bal. My lord!--my friend!-
Pol. (aside.) 'Tis he!--he comes himself? (aloud) Thou reasonest
well.
I know what thou wouldst say--not send the message-
Well!--I will think of it--I will not send it.
Now prythee, leave me--hither doth come a person
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