PROS. Nay, you lamp of virginity, that take it in snuff so: come and cherish this tame poetical fury in your servant, you'll be begg'd else shortly for a concealment: go to, reward his muse, you cannot give him less than a shilling in conscience, for the book he had it out of cost him a teston at the least. How now gallants, Lorenzo, Signior Bobadilla! what, all sons of silence? no spirit. GIU. Come, you might practise your ruffian tricks somewhere else, and not here, I wiss: this is no tavern, nor no place for such exploits. PROS. 'Sheart, how now! GIU. Nay, boy, never look askance at me for the matter; I'll tell you of it, by God's bread, ay, and you and your companions mend yourselves when I have done. PROS. My companions? GIU. Ay, your companions, sir, so I say! 'Sblood, I am not afraid of you nor them neither, you must have your poets, and your cavaliers, and your fools follow you up and down the city, and here they must come to domineer and swagger? sirrah, you ballad-singer, and slops, your fellow there, get you out; get you out: or (by the will of God) I'll cut off your ears, go to. PROS. 'Sblood, stay, let's see what he dare do: cut off his ears; you are an ass, touch any man here, and by the Lord I'll run my rapier to the hilts in thee. GIU. Yea, that would I fain see, boy. BIA. O Jesu! Piso! Matheo! murder! HES. Help, help, Piso! [THEY ALL DRAW, ENTER PISO AND SOME MORE OF THE HOUSE TO PART THEM, THE WOMEN MAKE A GREAT CRY.] LOR. JU. Gentlemen, Prospero, forbear, I pray you. BOB. Well, sirrah, you Holofernes: by my hand, I will pink thy flesh full of holes with my rapier for this, I will, by this good heaven: nay, let him come, let him come, gentlemen, by the body of St. George, I'll not kill him. [THEY OFFER TO FIGHT AGAIN, AND ARE PARTED.] PIS. Hold, hold, forbear. GIU. You whoreson, bragging coistril. [ENTER THORELLO.] THO. Why, how now? what's the matter? what stir is here? Whence springs this quarrel? Piso, where is he? Put up your weapons, and put off this rage. My wife and sister, they are cause of this. What, Piso? where is this knave? PIS. Here, sir. PROS. Come, let's go: this is one of my brother's ancient humours, this. STEP. I am glad nobody was hurt by this ancient humour. [EXIT PROSPERO, LORENZO JU., MUSCO, STEPHANO, BOBADILLA, MATHEO.] THO. Why, how now, brother, who enforced this brawl? GIU. A sort of lewd rake-hells, that care neither for God nor the devil. And they must come here to read ballads and roguery, and trash. I'll mar the knot of them ere I sleep, perhaps; especially Signior Pithagoras, he that's all manner of shapes: and songs and sonnets, his fellow there.