Enter _Antonio_ in a Night-Gown, with a Light; his Arm in a Scarf, and a Sword under his Arm: He sets the Candle on the Table. Ant. Sir, I come to know what Injuries I have done you, that could provoke you to so mean an Action, as to attack me basely, without allowing time for my Defence. Belv. Sir, for a Man in my Circumstances to plead Innocence, would look like Fear—but view me well, and you will find no marks of a Coward on me, nor any thing that betrays that Brutality you accuse me of. Ant. In vain, Sir, you impose upon my Sense, You are not only he who drew on me last Night, But yesterday before the same House, that of _Angelica_. Yet there is something in your Face and Mein— Belv. I own I fought to day in the defence of a Friend of mine, with whom you (if you’re the same) and your Party were first engag’d. Perhaps you think this Crime enough to kill me, 63 But if you do, I cannot fear you’ll do it basely. Ant. No, Sir, I’ll make you fit for a Defence with this. [Gives him the Sword. Belv. This Gallantry surprizes me—nor know I how to use this Present, Sir, against a Man so brave. Ant. You shall not need; For know, I come to snatch you from a Danger That is decreed against you; Perhaps your Life, or long Imprisonment: And ’twas with so much Courage you offended, I cannot see you punisht. Belv. How shall I pay this Generosity? Ant. It had been safer to have kill’d another, Than have attempted me: To shew your Danger, Sir, I’ll let you know my Quality; And ’tis the Vice-Roy’s Son whom you have wounded. Belv. The Vice-Roy’s Son! Death and Confusion! was this Plague reserved To compleat all the rest?—oblig’d by him! The Man of all the World I would destroy. [Aside. Ant. You seem disorder’d, Sir. Belv. Yes, trust me, Sir, I am, and ’tis with pain That Man receives such Bounties, Who wants the pow’r to pay ’em back again. Ant. To gallant Spirits ’tis indeed uneasy; —But you may quickly over-pay me, Sir. Belv. Then I am well—kind Heaven! but set us even, That I may fight with him, and keep my Honour safe. [Aside. —Oh, I’m impatient, Sir, to be discounting The mighty Debt I owe you; command me quickly— Ant. I have a Quarrel with a Rival, Sir, About the Maid we love. Belv. Death,’tis _Florinda_ he means— That Thought destroys my Reason, and I shall kill him— [Aside. 64 Ant. My Rival, Sir. Is one has all the Virtues Man can boast of. Belv. Death! who shou’d this be? [Aside. Ant. He challeng’d me to meet him on the _Molo_, As soon as Day appear’d; but last Night’s quarrel Has made my Arm unfit to guide a Sword. Belv. I apprehend you, Sir, you’d have me kill the Man That lays a claim to the Maid you speak of. —I’ll do’t—I’ll fly to do it. Ant. Sir, do you know her? Belv. —No, Sir, but ’tis enough she is admired by you. Ant. Sir, I shall rob you of the Glory on’t, For you must fight under my Name and Dress.