_Malf._ Yes, 'twas at that I trembl'd. But were my false friend _Leon_ here-- _Clar._ 'Tis he. _Malf._ Where? where? _Clar._ He is not come yet. _Malf._ 'Tis well for him, I am so full of wrath. _Clar._ Or fear--This _Leon_, How e're my Kinsman, hath abus'd you grosly, And this night vowes to take me hence perforce, And marry me to another: 'twas for this, (Presuming on your love) I did entreat you To put your armour on, that with more safety You might defend me. _Mal._ And I'le do it bravely. _Clar._ You must stand here to beat him off, and suffer No humane thing to pass you, though it appear In my Lords shape, or Ladies: be not cozen'd With a disguise. _Mal._ I have been fool'd already, but now I am wise. _Clar._ You must swear not to stir hence. _Mal._ Upon these lips. _Clar._ Nor move untill I call you? _Mal._ I'le grow here rather. _Clar._ This nights task well ended, I am yours to morrow. Keep sure guard. [_Exit_ Clar. _Malf._ Adieu; My honey-comb how sweet thou art, did not A nest of Hornets keep it! what impossibilities Love makes me undertake! I know my self A natural Coward, and should _Leon_ come, Though this were Cannon proof, I should deliver The wench before he ask'd her. I hear some footing: 'Tis he; where shall I hide my self? that is My best defence. _Enter_ Cleander. _Cle._ I cannot sleep, strange visions Make this poor life, I fear'd of late to lose, A toy that I grow weary of. _Malf._ 'Tis _Leon_. _Cle._ What's that? _Malf._ If you are come, Sir, for _Clarinda_; I am glad I have her for you; I resign My interest; you'll find her in her Chamber, I did stay up to tell you so. _Clean. Clarinda_, and _Leon_! There is something more in this Than I can stay to ask. [_Exit._ _Malf._ What a cold pickle (And that none of the sweetest) do I find My poor self in! _Clean._ [_Speaks within._] Yield villain. _Enter_ Clarinda _and_ Leon, _running._ Cleander _following._ _Clar._ 'Tis my Lord, Shift for your self. _Leon._ His life Shall first make answer [_Kills_ Cleander. For this intrusion. _Malf._ I am going away, I am gone already. [_Falls in a swoon._ _Clean._ Heaven take mercy on My soul; too true presaging Host. _Clar._ He's dead, And this wretch little better: Do you stare upon your Handy-work? _Leon._ I am amaz'd. _Clar._ Get o're the Garden wall, flye for your life, But leave your sword behind; enquire not why: I'le fashion something out of it, though I perish, Shall make way for revenge. _Leon._ These are the fruits Of lust, _Clarinda_. [Sidenote: _Puts the sword in_ Malfort's _hand._]