SPEND. Shame light on him that thinks His safety lieth in a French doublet. Nay, I would strip myself, would comeliness Give sufferance to the deed, and fight with thee As naked as a Mauritanian Moor. STAINES. Give me thy hand; by my heart, I love thee. Thou art the highest-spirited citizen That ever Guildhall took notice of. SPEND. Talk not what I am, until you have tried me. STAINES. Come on, sir. [_They fight._ SPEND. Now, sir, your life is mine. STAINES. Why then, take it, for I'll not beg it of thee. SPEND. Nobly resolv'd, I love thee for those words. Here, take thy arms again, and, if thy malice Have spent itself like mine, then let us part More friendly than we met at first encounter. STAINES. Sir, I accept This gift of you, but not your friendship, Until I shall recover 't with my honour. SPEND. Will you fight again, then? STAINES. Yes. SPEND. Faith, thou dost well, then, Justly to whip my folly. But come, sir. STAINES. Hold: y' are hurt, I take it. SPEND. Hurt! where? zounds, I feel it not. STAINES. You bleed, I am sure. SPEND. 'Sblood, I think you wear a cat's-claw upon your rapier's point: I am scratched indeed: but, small as 'tis, I must have blood for blood. STAINES. Y' are bent to kill, I see. SPEND. No, by my hopes; if I can 'scape that sin, And keep my good name, I'll never offer't. STAINES. Well, sir, your worst. SPEND. We both bleed now, I take it; And, if the motion may be equal thought To part with clasp'd hands, I shall first subscribe. STAINES. 'Twere unmanliness in me to refuse The safety of us both; my hand shall never fall From such a charitable motion. SPEND. Then join we both, and here our malice ends: Though foes we came to th' field, we'll depart friends. [_Exeunt._ _Enter_ SIR LIONEL _and a_ SERVANT. SIR LIONEL. Come, come, follow me, knave, follow me; I have the best nose i' the house, I think: either we shall have rainy weather, or the vault's unstopped. Sirrah, go see; I would not have my guests smell out any such inconvenience. Do you hear, sirrah Simon? SER. Sir. SIR LIONEL. Bid the kitchen-maid scour the sink, and make clean her backside, for the wind lies just upon't. SER. I will, sir. SIR LIONEL. And bid Anthony put on his white fustian doublet, for he must wait to-day. [_Exit_ SERVANT.] It doth me so much good to stir and talk, to place this and displace that, that I shall need no apothecaries' prescriptions. I have sent my daughter this morning as far as Pimlico,[190] to fetch a draught of Derby ale,[191] that it may fetch a colour in her cheeks: the puling harlotry looks so pale, and it is all for want of a man, for so their mother would say (God rest her soul) before she died. [_Exit._