_Bob._ I thank you: you have now bought a little advice Of me; if you chance to have conference with that Lady there, be very civil, or look to your head: she has Ten nails, and you have but two eies: If any foolish Hot motions should chance to rise in the Horizon Under your equinoctial there, qualifie it as well as You can, for I fear the elevation of your pole will Not agree with the _Horoscope_ of her constitution: She is _Bell the Dragon_ I assure you. [_Exit._ _Vit._ Are you the _Lucio_, Sir, that sav'd _Vitelli_? _Luc._ Not I indeed, Sir, I did never brable; There walks that _Lucio_ Metamorphosed. [_Exit._ _Vit._ Do ye mock me? _Cla._ No, he does not: I am that Supposed _Lucio_ that was, but _Clara_, That is, and daughter unto _Alvarez_. _Vit._ Amazement daunts me; would my life were riddles, So you were still my fair Expositor: Protected by a Lady from my death. Oh, I shall wear an everlasting blush Upon my cheek from this discovery: Oh, you the fairest Soldier, I e'er saw; Each of whose eyes, like a bright beamy Shield, Conquers without blows, the contentious. _Cla._ Sir, guard your self, you are in your enemies house, And may be injur'd. _Vit._ 'Tis impossible: Foe, nor oppressing odds dares prove _Vitelli_, If _Clara_ side him, and will call him friend; I would the difference of our bloods were such As might with any shift be wip'd away: Or would to heaven your self were all your name; That having lost blood by you, I might hope To raise blood from you. But my black-wing'd fate Hovers aversely over that fond hope: And he, whose tongue thus gratifies the daughter, And Sister of his enemy, wears a sword To rip the Father and the Brother up. Thus you that sav'd this wretched life of mine, Have sav'd it to the ruin of your friends. That my affections should promiscuously Dart love and hate at once, both worthily? Pray let me kiss your hand. _Cla._ You are treacherous, And come to do me mischief. _Vit._ Speak on still: Your words are falser (fair) than my intents, And each sweet accent far more treacherous; for Though you speak ill of me, you speak so well, I doe desire to hear you. _Cla._ Pray be gone: Or kill me if you please. _Vit._ Oh, neither can I, For to be gone, were to destroy my life; And to kill you, were to destroy my soul: I am in love, yet must not be in love: I'll get away apace: yet valiant Lady, Such gratitude to honor I do owe, And such obedience to your memory, That if you will bestow something, that I May wear about me, it shall bind all wrath, My most inveterate wrath, from all attempts, Till you and I meet next. _Cla._ A favour, Sir? Why, I will give ye good counsel.