_Rod._ Stand nearer, ha? _Ped._ Come, do your worst, I am ready. _Rod._ Is your tongue found? go off, and let me talk with him; And keep your watches round. _All._ We are ready, Captain. _Rod._ So, now what are ye? _Ped._ Am I? My habit shews me what I am. _Rod._ Thy heart A desperate fool, and so thy fate shall tell thee. What Devil brought thee hither? for I know thee. _Ped._ I know thou dost, and since it is my fortune To light into thy fingers, I must think too The most malicious of all Devils brought me, Yet some men say thou art noble. _Rod._ Not to thee, That were a benefit to mock the Giver; Thy father hates my friends, and family, And thou hast been the heir of all this malice. Can two such storms meet then, and part with kissing? _Ped._ You have the mightier hand. _Rod._ And so I'll use it. _Ped._ I cannot hinder ye; less can I beg Submissive at his knees that knows not honour, That bears the Stamp of Man, and not his Nature; Ye may do what ye please. _Rod._ I will do all. _Ped._ And when you have done all, which is my poor ruine, (For farther your base malice cannot venture) Dishonours self will cry you out a Coward. Hadst thou been brave, and noble, and an Enemy, Thou wouldst have sought me whilst I carried Arms, Whilst my good Sword was my profession, And then have cryed out, _Pedro_, I defie thee; Then stuck _Alphonso_'s quarrel on the point, The mercenary anger thou serv'st under, To get his Daughter. Then thou shouldst have brav'd me, And arm'd with all thy Families hate upon thee, Done something worthy feat; Now poor and basely Thou setst Toyls to betray me; and like the Pesant, That dares not meet the Lion in the face, Dig'st crafty pit-falls: thou sham'st the _Spanish_ Honour; Thou hast neither point of Man, nor Conscience in thee. _Rod._ Sir, Sir, y'are brave, ye plead now in a Sanctuary, You think your Pilgrims Bulwark can defend ye; You will not find it so. _Ped._ I look not for't. The more unhallowed soul hast thou to offer it. _Rod._ When you were bravest, Sir, and your sword sharpest, I durst affront ye; when the Court Sun gilded ye, And every cry was the young hopeful _Pedro_, _Alonso_'s sprightly Son; then durst I meet ye, When you were Master of this fame, and fashion, And all your glories in the full Meridian, The Kings proof-favour buckled on your body; Had we then come to competition, Which I have often sought. _Pedro._ And I desir'd too.