_Duke._ We commend your care, Nor will we e'er be wanting in Our counsels, As we doubt not your action; you _Baptista_ Shall stay with us; that Merchant is not wise, That ventures his whole fortunes in one bottom. _Albert._ Be our Admiral, spare your thanks, 'Tis Merit in you that invites this honor, Preserve it such; ere long you shall hear more, Things rashly undertaken end as ill, But great acts thrive when reason guides the will. --_Exeunt. Enter 3 Gentlemen._ _1._ No question 'twas not well done in _Cæsario_, To cross the horse of young _Mentivole_ In the midst of this course. _2._ That was not all, the switching him dull'd him. _3._ Would that both the jades Had broke their necks, when they first started; 'Slight, We stand here prating, give them leave to whisper, And when they have cut one anothers throats _Enter_ Mentivole, _and_ Cæsario. Make in to part 'em. _2._ There is no such hazard, Their Fathers friendship, and their love forbid it; See where they come! _1._ With fury in their looks. _Ment._ You have the wager, with what foul play got I'll not dispute: _Cæsar._ Foul play? _Ment._ I cannot speak it In a fairer language, and if some respects Familiar to my self chain'd not my tongue, I should say no more. I should, but I'll sit down, With this disgrace; how e'er press me no farther. For if once more provok'd, you'll understand I dare no more suffer an Injury, Than I dare do one. _Cæsar._ Why Sir are you injur'd In that I take my right which I would force, Should you detain it? _Ment._ Put it to judgment. _Cæsar._ No; my will in this shall carry it. _Ment._ Your will? nay, farewell softness then. [_They suddenly draw_ _3._ This I foresaw. _2._ Hold, hold. _Cæsar._ I am hurt. _2._ Shift for your self, 'tis death. _Men._ As you respect me, bear him off with care, If he miscarry since he did the wrong, I'll stand the shock of't. _2._ Gently, he will faint else.-- [_Exeunt_ Gent. _with_ Cæsario. _Ment._ And speedily, I beseech you; my rage over, That pour'd upon my reason clouds of error, I see my folly, and at what dear loss I have exchang'd a real innocence, To gain a meer fantastical report, Transported only by vain popular wind, To be a daring, nay, fool-hardy Man. _Enter_ Baptista. But could I satisfie my self within here, How should I bear my fathers frown? They meet me, My guilt conjures him hither. _Bap._ Sirrah: _Mentiv._ Sir: _Bap._ I have met the trophies of your ruffian sword: Was there no other Anvile to make triall How far thou durst be wicked, but the bosome Of him, which under the adulterate name Of friendship, thou hast murder'd.