LOR. JU. Why, and though you were, sir, the law allows you to defend yourself; that's but a poor excuse. BOB. I cannot tell; I never sustained the like disgrace (by heaven); sure I was struck with a planet then, for I had no power to touch my weapon. [EXIT.] LOR. JU. Ay, like enough; I have heard of many that have been beaten under a planet; go, get you to the surgeon's, 'sblood, an these be your tricks, your passados, and your montantos, I'll none of them: O God, that this age should bring forth such creatures! come, cousin. STEP. Mass, I'll have this cloak. LOR. JU. God's will: it's Giuliano's. STEP. Nay, but 'tis mine now, another might have ta'en it up as well as I, I'll wear it, so I will. LOR. JU. How an he see it? he'll challenge it, assure yourself. STEP. Ay, but he shall not have it; I'll say I bought it. LOR. JU. Advise you, cousin, take heed he give not you as much. [EXEUNT.] ENTER THORELLO, PROSPERO, BIANCHA, HESPERIDA. THO. Now trust me, Prospero, you were much to blame, T' incense your brother and disturb the peace Of my poor house, for there be sentinels, That every minute watch to give alarms Of civil war, without adjection Of your assistance and occasion. PROS. No harm done, brother, I warrant you: since there is no harm done, anger costs a man nothing: and a tall man is never his own man till he be angry, to keep his valour in obscurity, is to keep himself as it were in a cloak-bag: what's a musician unless he play? what's a tall man unless he fight? for indeed, all this my brother stands upon absolutely, and that made me fall in with him so resolutely. BIA. Ay, but what harm might have come of it? PROS. Might? so might the good warm clothes your husband wears be poison'd for any thing he knows, or the wholesome wine he drunk even now at the table. THO. Now, God forbid: O me! now I remember, My wife drunk to me last; and changed the cup, And bade me wear this cursed suit to-day, See if God suffer murder undiscover'd! I feel me ill; give me some mithridate, Some mithridate and oil; good sister, fetch me, Oh, I am sick at heart: I burn, I burn; If you will save my life, go fetch it me. PROS. Oh, strange humour, my very breath hath poison'd him. HES. Good brother, be content, what do you mean? The strength of these extreme conceits will kill you. BIA. Beshrew your heart-blood, brother Prospero, For putting such a toy into his head. PROS. Is a fit simile a toy? will he be poison'd with a simile? Brother Thorello, what a strange and vain imagination is this? For shame be wiser, on my soul there's no such matter. THO. Am I not sick? how am I then not poison'd? Am I not poison'd? how am I then so sick? BIA. If you be sick, your own thoughts make you sick. PROS. His jealousy is the poison he hath taken.