My heart had arm'd my tongue with injury, To wrong my friend, whose thoughts were ever true. Ah, poor Erastus! how thy stars malign! Thou great commander of the swift-wing'd winds And dreadful Neptune, bring him back again: But, Æolus and Neptune, let him go; For here is nothing but revenge and death: Then, let him go; I'll shortly follow him, Now with slow sails, but with love's golden wings: My ship shall be borne with tears, and blown with sighs; So will I soar about the Turkish land, Until I meet Erastus, my sweet friend: And then and there fall down amid his arms, And in his bosom there pour forth my soul, For satisfaction of my trespass past. _Enter_ BASILISCO _armed_. BASILISCO. Fair love, according unto thy command, I seek Erastus, and will combat him. PERSEDA. Ay, seek him, find him, bring him to my sight; For till we meet, my heart shall want delight. [_Exit_ PERSEDA. BASILISCO. My pretty fellow, where hast thou hid thy master? PISTON. Marry, sir, in an armourer's shop, Where you had not best go to him. BASILISCO. Why so? I am in honour bound to combat him. PISTON. Ay, sir; but he, knowing your fierce conditions, Hath planted a double cannon in the door, Ready to discharge it upon you when you go by. I tell you for pure good-will. BASILISCO. In knightly courtesy, I thank thee: But hopes the coystrel to escape me so? Thinks he bare cannon-shot can keep me back? Why, wherefore serves my targe of proof but for the bullet That, once put by, I roughly come upon him, Like to the wings of lightning from above; I with a martial look astonish him, Then falls he down, poor wretch! upon his knee, And all too late repents his surquedry: Then do I take him on my finger's point, And thus I bear him thorough every street, To be a laughing-stock to all the town: That done, I lay him at my mistress' feet, For her to give him doom of life or death. PISTON. Ay, but hear you, sir; I am bound, In pain of my master's displeasure, To have a bout at cuffs, afore you and I part. BASILISCO. Ha, ha, ha! eagles are challeng'd by paltry flies: Thy folly gives thee privilege; be gone, be gone. PISTON. No, no, sir: I must have a bout with you, sir, that's flat; Lest my master turn me out of service. BASILISCO. Why, art thou weary of thy life? PISTON. No, by my faith, sir.