_Jul._ It was your counsel. _Ang._ As I was a Knave, Not as I lov'd thee. _Jul._ All this is lost upon me, _Angelo_, For I must have her; I will marry ye When ye please: pray look better on me. _Ang._ Nay then no more, friend; farewel, _Julio_, I have so much discretion left me yet To know, and tell thee, thou art miserable. _Jul._ Stay, thou art more than she, and now I find it. _Lel._ Is he so? _Jul._ Mistriss. _Lel._ No, I'll see thee starv'd first. [_Exit_ Lelia. _Jul._ Friend. _Ang._ Fly her as I do, _Julio_, she's a Witch. _Jul._ Beat me away then, I shall grow here still else. _Ang._ That were the way to have me grow there with thee, Farewel for ever. [_Exit_ Angelo. _Jul._ Stay, I am uncharm'd, Farewel thou cursed house, from this hour be More hated of me than a Leprosie. [_Exit_ Julio. _Enter_ Lelia. _Lel._ Both gone? a plague upon 'em both, Am I deceiv'd again? Oh, I would rail And follow 'em, but I fear the spight of people, Till I have emptied all my gall; the next I seize upon shall pay their follies To the last penny; This will work me worse, He that comes next, by Heav'n shall feel their curse. [_Exit._ SCENE V. _Enter_ Jacomo _at one door_, Fabricio _at another_. _Fab._ O, ye are a sweet youth, so uncivilly To rail, and run away! _Jac._ O! are you there, Sir? I am glad I have found ye, you have not now your Ladies, To shew your wit before. _Fab._ Thou wou'lt not, wou'lt 'ou? _Jac._ What a sweet youth I am, as you have made me, You shall know presently. _Fab._ Put up your Sword, I have seen it often, 'tis a Fox. _Jac._ It is so, And you shall feel it too; will you dispatch, Sir? And leave your mirth out? or I shall take occasion To beat ye, and disgrace ye too. _Fab._ Well, since there is no other way to deal with you, Let's see your Sword, I am sure you scorn all odds, I will fight with you-- _Jac._ How now? [_They measure, and_ Fab. _gets his Sword_. _Fab._ Nay, stand out, Or by this light, I'll make ye. _Jac._ This is scurvy, And out of fear done. _Fab._ No, Sir, out of judgment, For he that deals with thee, thou'rt grown so boysterous, Must have more wits, or more lives than another, Or always be in Armour, or inchanted, Or he is miserable. _Jac._ Your end of this, Sir? _Fab._ My end is only mirth to laugh at thee, Which now I'll do in safety; ha, ha, ha. _Jac. 'S heart!_ then I am grown ridiculous. _Fab._ Thou art, And wilt be shortly sport for little Children, If thou continuest this rude stubborness. _Jac._ O God, for any thing that had an edge! _Fab._ Ha, ha, ha. _Jac._ Fye, what a shame it is, To have a Lubber shew his teeth!