_Mar._ The simile holds not; 'tis hanging rather. You must ascend your Castle by a Ladder; To the foot I'll bring you. _Ant._ Leave me to climb it. _Mar._ If I do turn you off? _Ant._ Till night fare-well: Then better. _Ism._ Best it should be; But peevish hatred keeps back that degree. [_Exeunt._ _Mar._ I never look'd so smooth as now I purpose: And then beware: Knave is at worst of knave When he smiles best, and the most seems to save. [_Exit._ _Scæna Secunda._ _Enter_ Julio. _Jul._ My mind's unquiet; while _Antonio_ My Nephew's abroad, my heart is not at home, Only my fears stay with me; bad company: But I cannot shift 'em off. This hatred Betwixt the house of _Bellides_ and us, Is not fair war: 'tis civil, but uncivil. We are near neighbors, were of love as near, Till a cross misconstruction ('twas no more In conscience) put us so far asunder: I would 'twere reconcil'd; it has lasted Too many Sun-sets, if grace might moderate: Man should not lose so many days of peace To satisfie the anger of one minute. I could repent it heartily. I sent The knave to attend my _Antonio_ too, Yet he returns no comfort to me neither. _Enter_ Bustofa. _Bust._ No: I must not. _Jul._ Hah; hee's come. _Bust._ I must not: 'twill break his heart to hear it. _Jul._ How? there's bad tidings: I must obscure and hear it; He will not tell me for breaking of my heart, 'Tis half split already. _Bust._ I have spi'd him: Now to knock down a Don with a lye, a silly harmless lye; 'twill be valiantly done, and nobly perhaps. _Jul._ I cannot hear him now. _Bust._ Oh the bloody days that we live in; the envious, malitious, deadly days that we draw breath in! _Jul._ Now I hear too loud. _Bust._ The Children that [n]ever shall be born may rue it; for men that are slain now might have liv'd to have got children, that might have curs'd their fathers. _Jul._ Oh, my posterity is ruin'd. _Bust._ Oh sweet _Antonio_. _Jul._ Oh dear _Antonio_. _Bust._ Yet it was nobly done of both parts: When he and _Lisauro_ met. _Jul._ Oh, death Has parted 'em. _Bust._ Welcome my mortal foe (says one,) Welcome my deadly enemy (says th'other:) off go their doublets, they in their shirts, and their swords stark naked; here lies _Antonio_, here lies _Lisauro_: he comes upon him with an _Embroccado_, that he puts by with a _puncta reversa_; _Lisauro_ recoils me two paces and some six inches back, takes his carrere, and then, on. _Jul._ Oh. _Bust._ Runs _Antonio_ quite thorow. _Jul._ Oh villain. _Bust._ Quite thorow between the arm and the body: so yet he had no hurt at that bout. _Jul._ Goodness be praised.