_Mal._ As ever I said my prayers, I protest to you. _Mont._ What may I think of this? _Mal._ Troth Sir thought is free for any man; we abuse our betters in it, I have done it my self. _Mont._ Trust me, this speech of yours doth much amaze me; pray leave this language, and out of that same sum you lately did receive of me, lay down as much as may discharge me. _Mal._ You are a merry man Sir, and I am glad you take your crosses so temperately; fare you well Sir, and yet I have something more to say to ye, a word in your ear I pray; to be plain with you I did lay this plot to arrest you to enjoy this money I have of yours, with the more safety. I am a fool to tel[l] you this now; but in good faith I could not keep it in. And the money wou'd a done me little good else. An honest Citizen cannot wholly enjoy his own wife for you, they grow old before they have true use of them, which is a lamentable thing, and truely much hardens the hearts of us Citizens against you: I can say no more, but am heartily sorry for your heaviness, and so I take my leave. [_Exit Mallycorne._ _1 Cred._ Officers take hold on him again, for Mounsier _Mallycorne_ will do nothing for him I perceive. _Enter Duboys, Lapoope, and Laverdine._ _Dub._ Nay come my masters, leave dancing of the old measures, and let's assault him bravely. _Lav._ By no means; for it goes against my stomach to kill a man in an unjust quarrell. _La-p._ It must needs be a clog to a mans conscience all his life time. _Lav._ It must indeed Captain: besides doe ye not see he has gotten a guard of friends about him, as if he had some knowledge of our purpose? _Dub._ Had he a guard of Devils, as I think them little better, my Sword should doe the message that it came for. _Lav._ If you will be so desperate, the blood lie upon your own neck, for we'll not meddle in't. _Duboys runs upon Montague, and strugling yields him his Sword; the Officers draw, Laverdine and La-poope in the scuffling retire, Montague chaseth them off the Stage, himself wounded._ _Dub._ I am your friend and servant. Struggle with me and take my Sword; Noble Sir, make your way, you have slain an Officer. _Mont._ Some one of them has certainly Requited me; for I doe lose much blood. _1 Offic._ Udsprecious, we have lost a brother, pursue the Gentleman. _2 Offic._ I'll not meddle with him: you see what comes on't; besides I know he will be hang'd ere he be taken. _1 Offic._ I tell thee yeoman he must be taken ere he be hanged; he is hurt in the guts, run afore therefore and know how his wife will rate his Sawsages a pound. _3 Offic._ Stay brother, I may live, for surely I find I'm but hurt in the leg, a dangerous kick on the shin-bone. [_Exeunt._