Silv. ’Tis so—’tis true, _Marcel_, I rudely did intrude— Mar. Oh, quickly haste—this looks like Women’s jangling. [Offers to fight again. Silv. Oh, is it bravely done, _Marcel_, to punish A Passion which you ought to pity rather? ’Tis what I cannot reconcile nor justify: And so distracted it has made me too— I will not fight in so unjust a Cause. Kill me, and I’ll embrace you whilst I die; A thousand Wounds imprinted on this Body, Will bring less Pain than that her Eyes have caus’d. Here strike—Pity my Pain and ease me. [Opens his Arms, and throws away his Sword. Mar. I find thou hast a Charm about thy Tongue, And thou implor’st thy Death in such a way, I cannot hurt thee; and it gives me hopes Thou art not yet so bless’d to be belov’d, For then thou wouldst not be thus desperate. Silv. Oh yes, I am belov’d. Mar. Oh do not say thou art, Nor take me from a Calmness, that may spare thee. Silv. Not say I am belov’d! thou canst not hire me With Life or fuller Joy, to say I am not. If there be Truth and Love in Innocence, she loves me. Mar. Yet, yet, ye Gods, I can endure—say, but thou art not, For I would yet preserve thee. Silv. Oh, canst thou wish that I should fall so low, To save my Life with Lyes; the poorest Sin of all the number? Mar. Then once again thou hast debauch’d my Pity. [Takes to his Sword. Silv. Her Passion I will justify, but not my own; Her’s is as pure as Prayers of Penitence; 302 But mine—I cannot give a Name to. [They fight: Enter _Alonzo_, and parts them. Alon. How now, what’s here to do! _Marcel?_ Mar. _Alonzo!_ the only Man I wish to shun. Silv. I’m glad, who e’er thou be’st thou hast prevented us. Alon. Thou hast more Wit than he, then I find: Your Quarrel, Sir, may a Man have leave to enquire into’t? Mar. This is that _Silvio_, that noble Youth my Brother, whom thou hast often heard me name. Alon. An excellent Character for an Enemy, Noble, and Brother: For shame put up your Swords, and I’ll be Judge between ye. Mar. The Case is soon decided; I will not tell you with how tedious a Courtship I won the Heart, as I thought, of a young Beauty of this Town—and yesterday receiv’d a Billet from her, to wait on her at night, to receive the recompence of all my Pains and Sufferings—In this extasy of Joy I show’d him the Paper; and he getting thither before me, rob’d me of my Prize. Silv. I am so pleas’d at this mistake of thine, I can forgive it freely. Mar. Not content with this, most treacherously, hid in the shades of Night, he met me in the Hall of this false Woman, and stab’d me, which did secure his flight with her; and wouldst thou have me put this Injury up? Alon. Faith, you must, and your Sword too, Unless you mean to keep it drawn on me. ’Twas I that wounded you i’ th’ dark; and it was I That rob’d you of _Clarinda_. Mar. Thou? Alon. I, am I so unlikely a Man to do such a feat? Mar. How dare you, Sir, do this?