GIO. 'Tis but an error; treason, d'ye call it, to kill The governor in heat of blood, and not intended? For my Evadne's sake, something I'll do Shall save his life. [_Exit._ MACH. To prison with him! ANT. Farewell, Evadne, as thou lovest the peace Of our dead ancestors, cease to love So loath'd a thing; a tailor! Why, 'tis the scorn of all; therefore be rul'd By thy departing brother, do not mix With so much baseness. Come, officers, bear me e'en where you please, My oppress'd conscience nowhere can have ease. [_Exit with Officers._ MACH. Lady, we here enjoin you to Your chamber As a prisoner, to wait a further censure; Your brother's fault has pull'd a punishment Upon your head, which you must suffer. EVAD. E'en what you please, your tyranny can't bear A shape so bad to make Evadne fear: Strong innocence shall guard my afflicted soul, Whose constancy shall tyranny control. [_Exeunt. A noise within, crying Rescue, rescue! Enter_ ANTONIO _and Guard; to them_ GIOVANNO _and_ TAILORS, _and rescue him, and beat them off_. _Enter an_ OFFICER, _meeting_ MACHIAVEL. OFF. A troop of tailors by force have ta'en Antonio from us, and have borne him (spite Of the best resistance we could make) unto some Secret place; we cannot find him. MACH. Screech-owl, dost know what thou hast said? Death! find him, or you die! O my cross stars! He must not live to torture our vex'd sense, But die; though he'd no fault but innocence. [_Exit._ _Enter_ GIOVANNO, ANTONIO, _and the_ OLD TAILOR. GIO. Can this kindness merit your love? Do I deserve your sister? ANT. My sister! worthy tailor, 'tis a gift lies not in me to give: ask something else, 'tis thine, although it be gained with the quite extinguishing of this--this breath you gave me. GIO. Have not I---- ANT. Speak no further; I confess you have been all unto me, life and being; I breathe but with your licence: will no price buy out your interest in me but her love? I tell thee, tailor, I have blood runs in me, Spain cannot match for greatness next her kings. Yet, to requite thy love, I'll call thee friend; be thou Antonio's friend--a favour nobles have thirsted for: will this requite thee? GIO. Sir, this may, but---- ANT. My sister, thou wouldst say, most worthy tailor; she's not mine to give; honour spake in my dying father: 'tis a sentence that's registered here in Antonio's heart--I must not wed her but to one in blood calls honour father. Prythee, be my friend; forget I have a sister; in love I'll be more than a brother, though not to mingle blood. GIO. May I not call her mistress? ANT. As a servant, far from the thoughts of wedlock. GIO. I'm yours, friend: I am proud on't; you shall find That, though a tailor, I've an honest mind. Pray, master, help my lord unto a suit; his life Lies at your mercy. 1ST TAI. I'll warrant you. ANT. But for thy men.