_Vit._ I must forget you _Clara_, 'till I have Redeem'd my unkles blood, that brands my face Like a pestiferous Carbuncle: I am blind To what you do: deaf to your cries: and Marble To all impulsive exorations. When [o]n this point, I have perch'd thy fathers soul, I'll tender thee this bloody reeking hand Drawn forth the bowels of that murtherer: If thou canst love me then, I'll marry thee, And for thy father lost, get thee a Son; On no condition else. _Assist._ Most barbarous. _Say._ Savage. _Anast._ Irreligious. _Gen._ Oh _Lucio_! Be thou merciful: thou bear'st fewer years, Art lately wean'd from soft eff[e]minacy, A maidens manners, and a maidens heart Are neighbors still to thee: be then more mild, Proceed not to this combat; be'st thou desperate Of thine own life? yet (dearest) pitty mine Thy valour's not thine own, I gave it thee, These eyes begot it, this tongue bred it up, This breast would lodge it: do not use my gifts To mine own ruine: I have made thee rich, Be not so thankless, to undo me for't. _Luc._ Mistriss, you know I do not wear a vein. I would not rip for you, to do you service: Life's but a word, a shadow, a melting dream, Compar'd to essential, and eternal honor. Why, would you have me value it beyond Your b[r]other: if I first cast down my sword May all my body here, be made one wound, And yet my soul not find heaven thorough it. _Alv._ You would be catter-walling too, but peace, Go, get you home, and provide dinner for Your Son, and me: wee'll be exceeding merry: Oh _Lucio_, I will have thee cock of all The proud _Vitellies_ that do live in _Spain_: Fie, we shall take cold: hunch:----I am hoarse Already. _Lam._ How your Sister whets my spleen! I could eat _Lucio_ now: _Gen. Vitelli_, Brother, Ev'n for your Fathers soul, your uncles blood, As you do love my life: but last, and most As you respect your own Honor, and Fame, Throw down your sword; he is most valiant That herein yields first. _Vit._ Peace, you fool. _Cla._ Why _Lucio_, Do thou begin; 'tis no disparagement: He's elder, and thy better, and thy valor Is in his infancy. _Gen._ Or pay it me, To whom thou ow'st it: Oh, that constant time Would but go back a week, then _Lucio_ Thou would'st not dare to fight. _Eug. Lucio_, thy Mother, Thy Mother begs it: throw thy sword down first. _Alv._ I'll throw his head down after then. _Gen. Lamorall._ You have often swore you'ld be commanded by me. _Lam._ Never to this: your spight, and scorn _Genevora_, Has lost all power in me: _Gen._ Your hearing for six words. _Ass. Say. An._ Strange obstinacy! _Al. Vit. Lu. Lam._ We'll stay no longer.