A word would stir less deeply than you dread.

Ah, there you err ; he knows no middle term.
At once he would accept as fact the worst
Of your imaginings ; his rage would smite
All near him, and rebound upon himself;
For, as I learn, Don John brings royal orders
For the Queen’s gallery; he would dismiss
The Prince as roughly as a begging artist.
Make no such breach just now betwixt the court
And our own kindred.

Be it so, Tommaso. I will do naught in haste.

Watch thou and wait.
A slight reproof might now suffice the child,
Tame as a bird unto a gentle voice.

My mind misgives me ; yet will I find patience.