You launch into a dazzling exhibition of alliterative, extemporaneous poetry, with a few unexpected turns of phrase that draw grins even from this jaded audience.
"Instructive," says Malodoro after a quick glance to His Grace. "Instructive indeed."
"What I have learned this hour has fixed my mind," says the Duke, drawing himself up straight, "thus to the Court of Saul the Fourth you go.
"I will not lie and say I love our King—he has my loyalty and little else. Yet not a noble house has e'er been found would shun a regal favor aptly timed. A bonny gift will plant the seeds for such; and you, young fool, are just the fitting prize to cap the gen'rous train I have devised."
Good Lord, you think. His Grace actually likes you.
"Naturally, all the facts support this course of action," Malodoro chimes in. "In your lurking about, from aught I've heard and seen, your efforts have been so subtle as to go unremarked, so your may take them to be unremarked elsewhere with no great sacrifice to this Court. As for your conduct, you are relatively restrained as fools go, rendering it unlikely you will indulge in knaveries at Court 'twill harm His Grace's reputation. It must be mentioned, too, that you are not nearly as possessed of a lascivious comportment as other treaders of the wicked stage. This makes you the fittest contender in your company for a royal berth."
"Well said," Duke Ruffino says, picking up his crossbow again.
Onward