_Petr._ _Ferrara's_ Duke, would I might call him worthie, But that he has raz'd out from his family, As he has mine with Infamie, This man, Rather this powerfull Monster, we being left But two of all our house, to stock our memories, My Sister, and my self; with arts, and witchcrafts, Vows, and such oaths heaven has no mercy for, Drew to dishonour this weak maid, by stealths, And secret passages I knew not of, Oft he obtain'd his wishes, oft abus'd her: I am asham'd to say the rest: This purchas'd, And his hot bloud allay'd, as friends forsake us At a miles end upon our way, he left her, And all our name to ruine. _John._ This was foul Play, And ought to be rewarded so. _Petr._ I hope so; He scap'd me yester-night: which if he dare Again adventure for, Heaven pardon him, I shall with all my heart. _John._ For me, brave Signior, What do ye intend? _Petr._ Only, fair Sir, this trust, Which from the commendations of this Letter, I dare presume well plac'd, nobly to bear him By word of mouth a single challenge from me, That man to man, if he have honour in him, We may decide all difference. _John._ Fair, and noble, And I will do it home: When shall I visite ye? _Petr._ Please you this after-noon, I will ride with you: For at a Castle six miles hence, we are sure To find him. _John._ I'le be ready. _Petr._ To attend ye, My man shall wait: with all my love. [_Ex._ Petr. _John._ My service shall not fail ye. _Enter_ Frederick. _Fred._ How now? _John._ All's well: who dost thou think this wench is? Ghess, and thou canst? _Fred._ I cannot. _John._ Be it known then, To all men by these presents, this is she, She, she, and only she, our curious coxcombs Were errant two moneths after. _Fred._ Who, _Constantia_? Thou talk'st of Cocks and Bulls. _John._ I talk of wenches, Of cocks and Hens _Don Frederick_; this is the Pullet We two went proud after. _Fred._ It cannot be. _John._ It shall be; Sister to _Don Petrucchio_: I know all man. _Fred._ Now I believe. _John._ Go to, there has been stirring, Fumbling with Linnen _Frederick_. _Fred._ 'Tis impossible, You know her fame was pure as fire. _John._ That pure fire Has melted out her maiden-head: she is crackt: We have all that hope of our side, boy. _Fred._ Thou tell'st me, To my imagination, things incredible: I see no loose thought in her. _John._ That's all one, She is loose i'th' hilts by heaven: but the world must know A fair way, upon vow of marriage. _Fred._ There may be such a slip. _John._ And will be, _Frederick_, Whil'st the old game's a foot: I fear the boy Will prove hers too I took up. _Fred._ Good circumstance May cure all this yet.