_Gos._ Yes, Sir, this little, I pray you, And't shall be aside, then after, as you please. You appear the Uncle, Sir, to her I love More than mine eyes; and I have heard your scorns With so much scoffing, and so much shame, As each strive which is greater: But, believe me, I suck'd not in this patience with my milk. Do not presume, because you see me young, Or cast despights on my profession For the civility and tameness of it. A good man bears a contumely worse Than he would do an injury. Proceed not To my offence: wrong is not still successful, Indeed it is not: I would approach your Kins-woman With all respect, done to your self and her. _Hem._ Away Companion: handling her? take that. [_Strikes him._ _Gos._ Nay, I do love no blows, Sir, there's exchange. _Hub._ Hold, Sir. (_He gets_ Hemskirks _sword and cuts him on the head._ _Mar._ O murther. _Ger._ Help my _Goswin_. _Mar._ Man. _Van._ Let 'em alone; my life for one. _Gos._ Nay come, If you have will. _Hub._ None to offend you, I, Sir. _Gos._ He that had, thank himself: not hand her? yes Sir, And clasp her, and embrace her; and (would she Now go with me) bear her through all her Race, Her Father, Brethren, and her Uncles, arm'd, And all their Nephews, though they stood a wood Of Pikes, and wall of Canon: kiss me _Gertrude_, Quake not, but kiss me. _Van._ Kiss him, Girl, I bid you; My Merchant Royal; fear no Uncles: hang 'em, Hang up all Uncles: Are not we in _Bruges_? Under the Rose here? _Gos._ In this circle, Love, Thou art as safe, as in a Tower of Brass; Let such as do wrong, fear. _Van._ I, that's good, Let _Wolfort_ look to that. _Gos._ Sir, here she stands, Your Niece, and my beloved. One of these titles She must apply to; if unto the last, Not all the anger can be sent unto her, In frown, or voyce, or other art, shall force her, Had _Hercules_ a hand in't: Come, my Joy, Say thou art mine, aloud Love, and profess it. _Van._ Doe: and I drink to it. _Gos._ Prethee say so, Love. _Ger._ 'Twould take away the honour from my blushes: Do not you play the tyrant, sweet: they speak it. _Hem._ I thank you niece. _Gos._ Sir, thank her for your life, And fetch your sword within. _Hem._ You insult too much With your good fortune, Sir. [_Exeunt_ Gos. _and_ Ger. _Hub._ A brave clear Spirit; _Hemskirk_, you were to blame: a civil habit Oft covers a good man: and you may meet In person of a Merchant, with a soul As resolute, and free, and all wayes worthy, As else in any file of man-kind: pray you, What meant you so to slight him? _Hem._ 'Tis done now, Ask no more of it; I must suffer. [_Exit_ Hemskirk. _Hub._ This Is still the punishment of rashness, sorrow. Well; I must to the woods, for nothing here Will be got out. There, I may chance to learn Somewhat to help my enquiries further. _Van._ Ha? A Looking-glass? _Hub._ How now, brave _Burgomaster_? _Van._ I love no _Wolforts_, and my name's _Vandunk_,