_Soto._ Can any living man, unless a Rascal That neither knows himself, nor a fashion'd Gentleman Take me for a worse man than my Master now? I am naturally proud in these clothes: but if pride now Should catch a fall in what I am attempting, 'Tis but a Proverb sound, and a neck broken, That's the worst can come on't, a Gentleman's gone then, A Gentleman o'th' first house, there's the end on't: My Master lies most pittifully complaining, Wringing and kicking up to th' ears in love yonder, And such a lamentable noise he keeps, it kills me: I have got his cloaths, and if I can get to her By hook or crook here, such a song I'll sing her-- I think I shall be hang'd, but that's no matter, What's a hanging among friends: I am valiant now as an Elephant, I have consider'd what to say too: let me see now, This is the place, 'tis plaguy high: stay at that lower window Let me aim finely now, like a good Gunner, It may prove but a whipping. _Enter_ Silvio. _Sil._ I saw some body Pass by me now, and though it were dark, me-thought yet I knew the clothes: ha, let me not be cozen'd, The Ladder too, ready to fling it? monstrous, 'Tis he, 'tis _Claudio_: most voluptuous villain, Scandal to womans credit: Love, I forget thee. _Soto._ What will he do i'th' name of Heaven, what's that there? _Sil._ And all the friendship that I bore thee, bury here. _Soto._ What has he in's hand? I hope but a Cudgel. _Sil._ Thy faul'ts forgive O Heaven: farewel thou traitor. _Soto._ I am slain: I am slain. _Sil._ He's down, and dead: dead certain, 'Twas too rash, too full of spleen, stark dead: This is no place now to repent in, only Would I had given this hand that shot the Pistol I had miss'd thee, and thou wer't once more _Claudio_. [_Exit._ _Enter_ Claudio. _Cla._ Why should I love thus foolishly? thus desperately? And give away my heart where no hope's left me? Why should not the true counsel of a friend restrain me? The Devils mouth I run into affright me, The honor of the Lady, charm my wildness; I have no power, no Being of my self, No reason strong enough now left within me To bind my Will: Oh Love, thou god, or devil, Or what thou art, that playes the tyrant in me. _Soto._ Oh. _Cla._ What's that cry? _Soto._ A Surgeon, a Surgeon, Twenty good Surgeons. _Cla._ 'Tis not far from me, Some murther o' my life. _Soto._ Will you let me dye here? No drink come, nor no Surgeon? _Cla._ 'Tis my man sure, His voice, and here he lies: how is it with thee? _Soto._ I am slain, Sir, I am slain. _Cla._ Slain? Who has slain thee? _Soto._ Kill'd, kill'd, out-right kill'd. _Cla._ Where's thy hurt? _Soto._ I know not, But I am sure I am kill'd.