_Cler._ If you will die so like a beast, you shall; But when the spirit of a man may save you, Doe not so shame man, and a Nobleman. 25 _Mont._ I doe not show this basenesse that I feare thee, But to prevent and shame thy victory, Which of one base is base, and so Ile die. _Cler._ Here, then. _Mont._ Stay, hold! One thought hath harden'd me, _He starts up._ And since I must afford thee victorie, 30 It shall be great and brave, if one request Thou wilt admit mee. _Cler._ What's that? _Mont._ Give me leave To fetch and use the sword thy brother gave mee, When he was bravely giving up his life. _Cler._ No; Ile not fight against my brothers sword; 35 Not that I feare it, but since tis a tricke For you to show your backe. _Mont._ By all truth, no: Take but my honourable othe, I will not. _Cler._ Your honourable othe! Plaine truth no place has Where othes are honourable. _Tam._ Trust not his othe. 40 Hee will lie like a lapwing; when shee flyes Farre from her sought nest, still "Here tis" shee cryes. _Mont._ Out on thee, damme of divels! I will quite Disgrace thy bravos conquest, die, not fight. _Lyes downe._ _Tam._ Out on my fortune, to wed such an abject! 45 Now is the peoples voyce the voyce of God; Hee that to wound a woman vants so much, As hee did mee, a man dares never touch. _Cler._ Revenge your wounds now, madame; I resigne him Up to your full will, since hee will not fight. 50 First you shall torture him (as hee did you, And justice wils) and then pay I my vow. Here, take this ponyard. _Mont._ Sinke earth, open heaven, And let fall vengeance! _Tam._ Come sir, good sir, hold him. _Mont._ O shame of women, whither art thou fled! 55 _Cler._ Why (good my lord) is it a greater shame For her then you? come, I will be the bands You us'd to her, prophaning her faire hands. _Mont._ No, sir, Ile fight now, and the terror be Of all you champions to such as shee. 60 I did but thus farre dally; now observe. O all you aking fore-heads that have rob'd Your hands of weapons and your hearts of valour, Joyne in mee all your rages and rebutters, And into dust ram this same race of Furies; 65 In this one relicke of the Ambois gall, In his one purple soule shed, drowne it all. _Fight._ _Mont._ Now give me breath a while. _Cler._ Receive it freely. _Mont._ What thinke y'a this now?