_Abd._ 'Tis strange it should be so, that your high mettle Should check thus poorly, dully; most unmanly. _Mount._ Let me alone. _Abd._ Thus leadenly? _Mount._ ---- [t]ake ye. _Abd._ At every childish fear? at every shadow? Are you _Mountferrat_ that have done such deeds? Wrought through such bloudy fields, men shake to speak of? Can ye go back? is there a safety left yet But fore-right? is not ruine round about ye? Have ye not still these arms, that Sword, that heart-whole? Is't not a man ye fight with, and an old man, A man half kill'd already? Am not I here? As lovely in my black to entertain thee, As high and full of heat to meet thy pleasures? _Mount._ I will be alone. _Abd._ Ye shall: farewel, Sir; And do it bravely, never think of conscience: There is none to a man resolved; be happy. [_Exit._ _Enter_ Miranda. _Mount._ No, most unhappy wretch as thou hast made me More devil than thy self, I am. _Mir._ Alone, And troubled too, I take it: how he starts! All is not handsome in thy heart _Mountferrat_. God speed ye Sir, I have been seeking of ye: They say you are to fight to day. _Mount._ What then? _Mir._ Nay, nothing but good fortune to your Sword, Sir. Ye have a cause requires it, the Islands safety, The Orders, and your Honors. _Mount._ And do you make a question I will not fight it Nobly? _Mir._ Ye dare fight, Ye have, and with as great a confidence as justice, I have seen ye strike as home, and hit as deadly. _Mount._ Why are these questions then? _Mir._ I'll tell ye quickly. Ye have a Lady in your cause, a fair one, A gentler never trode on ground, a Nobler. _Mount._ Do ye come on so fast? I have it for ye. _Mir._ The Sun ne'r saw a sweeter. _Mount._ These I grant ye: Nor dare I against beauty heave my hand up, It were unmanly, Sir; too much unmanly: But when these excellencies turn to ruine, To ruine of themselves, and those protect 'em; When virtue's lost, lust and dishonor enter'd, Loss of our selves and souls basely projected-- _Mir._ Do you think 'tis so? _Mount._ Too sure. _Mir._ And can it be? Can it be thought _Mountferrat_, so much sweetness, So great a Magazine of all things precious, A mind so heavenly made, prethee observe me: _Mount._ I thought so too: now by my Holy Order, He that had told me, (till experience found it Too bold a proof) this Lady had been vitious-- I wear no dull Sword Sir, nor hate I virtue. _Mir._ Against her brother? to the man has bred her? Her Bloud and Honor?