Classic Poem

Pardon, my lord — I speak for Sigismund. Fronsberg.
For him? Oh, ay — for him I always hold
A pardon safe in bank, sure he will draw
Sooner or later on me. What his need?
Mad project broken? fine mechanic wings
That would not fly? durance, assault on watch,
Bill for Epernay, not a crust to eat? Aspern.
Oh, none of these, my lord; he has escaped
From Circe's herd, and seeks to win the love
Of your fair ward Cecilia: but would win
First your consent. You frown. Fronsberg.
Distinguish words
I said I held a pardon, not consent.