_Ant._ We are no dogs Sir, To run back on command. _Ter._ We'll make ye run, Sir. _Ant._ Having a civil charge of handsome Ladies, We are your servants: pray ye no quarrel Gentlemen. There's way enough for both. _Lis._ We'll make it wider. _Ant._ If you will fight, arm'd from this Saint; have at ye. _Ism._ O me unhappy, are ye Gentlemen? Discreet, and Civil, and in open view thus? _Am._ What will men think of us; nay you may kill us; Mercy o'me; through my petticoat; what bloody Gentlemen! _Ism._ Make way through me, ye had best, and kill an innocent: Brother, why Cosen: by this light I'll dye too: This Gentleman is temperate: be you merciful: Alass, the Swords. _Am._ You had best run me through [the belly] 'Twill be a valiant thrust. _Ism._ I faint amongst ye. _Ant._ Pray ye be not fearful: I have done (sweet Lady) My swords already aw'd, and shall obey ye: I come not here to violate sweet beauty, I bow to that. _Ism._ Brother, you see this Gentleman, This noble Gentleman. _Lis._ Let him avoid then, And leave our Walk. _Ant._ The Lady may command Sir, She bears an eye more dreadful than your weapon. _Ism._ What a sweet nature this man has! dear brother, Put up your sword. _Ter._ Let them put up and walk then: _Ant._ No more loud words: there's time enough before us: For shame put up, do honor to these beauties: _Mar._ Our way is this, We will not be denyed it. _Ter._ And ours is this, we will not be cross'd in it. _Ant._ What ere your way is (Lady) 'tis a fair one; And may it never meet with rude hands more, Nor rough uncivil Tongues. [_Exeunt._ _Ism._ I thank ye Sir, Indeed I thank ye nobly: a brave Enemy, Here's a sweet temper now: This is a man (Brother) This Gentleman's anger is so nobly seated, That it becomes him: Yours proclaim ye Monsters. What if he be our House-Foe? we may brag on't: We have ne'er a friend in all our House so honorable: I had rather from an Enemy, my Brother, Learn worthy distances and modest difference, Than from a race of empty friends, loud nothings: I am hurt between ye. _Am._ So am I, I fear too: [I am sure their swords were between my leggs]: Dear Cosen Why look ye pale? where are ye hurt? _Ism._ I know not, But here methinks. _Lis._ Unlace her gentle Cousen. _Ism._ My heart, my heart, and yet I bless the Hurter. _Am._ Is it so dangerous? _Ism._ Nay, nay, I faint not. _Am._ Here is no blood that I find, sure 'tis inward: _Ism._ Yes, yes, 'tis inward: 'twas a subtle weapon, The hurt not to be cur'd I fear. _Lis._ The Coach there. _Am._ May be a fright. _Ism. Aminta_, 'twas a sweet one, And yet a cruel. _Am._ Now I find the wound plain: A wondrous handsome Gentleman.