_Bust._ But then, at next encounter, he fetches me up _Lisauro_; _Lisauro_ makes out a long at him, which he thinking to be a _Passado, Antonio's_ foot slipping: down: oh down. _Jul._ O now thou art lost. _Bust._ Oh, but the quality of the thing: both Gentlemen, both Spanish Christians, yet one man to shed.... _Jul._ Say his enemies blood. _Bust._ His hair, may come by divers casualties, though he never go into the field with his foe: but a man to lose nine ounces and two drams of blood at one wound, thirteen and a scruple at another, and to live till he dye in cold blood: yet the Surgeon (that cur'd him) said if _Pia-mater_ had not been perish'd, he had been a lives man till this day. _Jul._ There he concludes he is gone. _Bust._ But all this is nothing: now I come to the point. _Jul._ I, the point, that's deadly: the antient blow Over the buckler, ne'r went half so deep. _Bust._ Yet pitty bids me keep in my charity: for me to pull an old mans ears from his head with telling of a Tale: oh fowle Tale! No, be silent Tale. Farthermore, there is the charge of Buriall; every one will cry Blacks, Blacks, that had but the least finger dipt in his blood, though ten degrees remov'd when 'twas done. Moreover, the Surgeon (that made an end of him) will be paid: Sugar-plums and sweet breads; yet I say, the man may recover again, and dye in his bed. _Jul._ What motley stuff is this? Sirrha, speak truth What hath befallen my dear _Antonio_? Restrain your pitty in concealing it; Tell me the danger full; take off your care Of my receiving it: kill me that way, I'll forgive my death; what thou keepst back from truth Thou shalt speak in pain; do not look to find A limb in his right place, a bone unbroke, Nor so much flesh unbroil'd of all that mountain, As a worm might sup on, dispatch, or be dispatch'd. _Bust._ Alass Sir, I know nothing, but that _Antonio_ is a man of Gods making to this hour, 'tis not two since I left him so. _Jul._ Where didst thou leave him? _Bust._ In the same clothes he had on when he went from you. _Jul._ Does he live? _Bust._ I saw him drink. _Jul._ Is he not wounded? _Bust._ He may have a cut i'th'leg by this time; for Don _Martin_ and he were at whole slashes. _Jul._ Met he not with _Lisauro_? _Bust._ I do not know her. _Jul._ Her? _Lisauro_ is a man, as he is. _Bust._ I saw ne'er a man like him. _Jul._ Didst thou not discourse a fight betwixt _Ant._ and _Lis_? _Bust._ I to my self; I hope a man may give himself the lye if it please him. _Jul._ Didst thou lye then? _Bust._ As sure as you live now. _Jul._ I live the happier by it: when will he return? _Bust._ That he sent me to tell you, within these ten days at farthest. _Jul._ Ten days? he's not wont to be absent two.