_Rod._ I'll satisfie ye; But not by th' sword, pray you hear me, and allow me; I have been rude; but shall I be a Monster, And teach my Sword to hurt that that preserv'd me? Though I be rough by nature, shall my name Inherit that eternal stain of barbarous? Give me an enemy, a thing that hates ye, That never heard of yet, nor felt your goodness, That is one main antipathy to sweetness; And set me on, you cannot hold me Coward; If I have ever err'd, 'thas been in hazard; The temper of my Sword starts at your Vertue, And will flye off, nay it will weep to light ye; Things excellently mingled, and of pure nature, Hold sacred Love, and peace with one another, See how it turns. _Ped._ This is a strange Conversion: And can ye fail your Mistriss? can ye grow cold In such a case? _Rod._ Those heats that they add to us, (O noble _Pedro_) let us feel 'em rightly, And rightly but consider how they move us. _Ped._ Is not their honour ours? _Rod._ If they be vertuous, And then the Sword adds nothing to their lustre, But rather calls in question what's not doubted; If they be not, the best Swords, and best valours Can never fight 'em up to fame again; No, not a Christian War, and that's held pious. _Ped._ How bravely now he is tempered! I must fight, And rather make it honourable, than angry, I would not task those sins to me committed. _Rod._ You cannot, Sir, you have cast those by: discarded 'em, And in a noble mind, so low, and loosely To look back, and collect such lumps, and lick 'em Into new horrid forms again-- _Ped._ Still braver. _Rod._ To fight, because I dare, were worse and weaker Than if I had a woman in my cause, Sir, And more proclaim'd me fool: yet I must confess I have been covetous of all occasions, And this I have taken upon trust, for noble, The more shame mine: devise a way to fight thus, That like the wounded air, no bloud may issue, Nor where the Sword shall enter, no lost spirit, And set me on: 1 would not scare that body, That vertuous, valiant body, nor deface it To make the Kingdom mine: if one must bleed, Let me be both the Sacrifice and Altar, And you the Priest; I have deserv'd to suffer. _Ped._ The noble _Roderigo_, now I call ye, And thus my love shall ever count, and hold ye. _Rod._ I am your servant, Sir, and now this habit, Devotion, not distrust shall put upon me, I'll wait upon your fortunes, that's my way now, And where you grieve, or joy, I'll be a Partner. _Ped._ I thank ye, Sir, I shall be too proud of ye, O I could tell ye strange things. _Rod._ I guess at 'em, And I could curse my self, I made 'em stranger; Yet my mind says you are not far from happiness.