_Alber._ Nor would not be accepted, Though upon thy knees 'twere tender'd. _Maria._ Now the storm grows high. _Bap._ But that I thought thee dead, and in thy death The brinie Ocean had entomb'd thy name; I would have sought a Wife in a _Bordello_ For my _Mentivole_, and gladly hugg'd Her spurious issue as my lawful Nephews, Before his blood should e'er have mix'd with thine; So much I scorn it. _Alber._ I'll not bandy words, but thus dissolve the contract. _Bap._ There I meet thee, and seize on what's mine own. _Alber._ For all my service, Great Sir, grant me the combat with this wretch, That I may scourge his insolence. _Bap._ I kneel for it. _Cesar._ And to approve my self _Alberto's_ Son, I'll be his second upon any odds, 'Gainst him that dare most of _Baptista's_ race. _Menti._ Already upon honourable terms, In me thou hast met thy better, for her sake I'll add no more. _Alber._ Sir, let our swords decide it. _Maria._ Oh stay Sir, and as you would hold the Title Of a just Prince, e'r you grant licence to These mad-mens fury, lend your private ear To the most distress'd of Women. _Duke._ Speak, 'tis granted. [_He takes_ Mariana _aside_. _Clar._ In the mean time, let not _Clarissa_ be A patient looker on, though as yet doubtful, To whom to bend her knee first, yet to all I stoop thus low in duty, and would wash The dust of fury with my Virgin tears, From his bless'd feet, and make them beautiful That would move to conditions of peace, Though with a snail-like pace, they all are wing'd To bear you to destruction: reverend Sirs, Think on your antient friendship cemented With so much bloud, but shed in noble action, Divided now in passion for a brawl; The Makers blush to own, much lov'd _Cesario_. Brother, or friend, (each Title may prevail,) Remember with what tenderness from our childhood We lov'd together, you preferring me Before your self, and I so fond of you That it begot suspition in ill minds That our affection was incestuous. Think of that happy time, in which I know That with your dearest bloud you had prevented This shower of tears from me; _Mentivole_, My Husband, registred in that bright star-chamber, Though now on earth made strangers, be the example And offer in one hand the peaceful _Olive_ Of concord, or if that can be denied By powerful intercession in the other Carry the _Hermian_ rod, and force attonement, Now we will not be all marble. Death's the worst then And he shall be my Bridegroom. [_Offers to kill her self._ _Ment._ Hold _Clarissa_, his loving violence needs must Offer in spite of honor.-- [_He snatches away her knife, and sets it to his own breast, she staies his hand._ _Duke._ Was it to that end then on your Religion?