eye of majesty, shrinks back,
His fingers clutch, and like to lead,
They are heavy to raise up my state, being dead.
By which I find spendthrifts (and such am I)
Like strumpets flourish, but are foul within,
And they (like snakes) know when to cast their skin.

_Enter_ THOMAS SCARBOROW.

THOM. Turn, draw, and die; I come to kill thee.

SCAR. What's he that speaks like sickness? O, is't you?
Sleep still, you cannot move me: fare you well.

THOM. Think not my fury slakes so, or my blood
Can cool itself to temper by refusal:
Turn, or thou diest.

SCAR. Away.

THOM. I do not wish to kill thee like a slave,
That taps men in their cups, and broach[es] their hearts,
Ere with a warning-piece they have wak'd their ears;
I would not like to powder shoot thee down
To a flat grave, ere thou hast thought to frown:
I am no coward, but in manly terms
And fairest oppositions vow to kill thee.

SCAR. From whence proceeds this heat?

THOM. From sparkles bred
By thee, that like a villain--

SCAR. Ha!

THOM. I'll hollow it
In thine ears, till thy soul quake to hear it,
That like a villain hast undone thy brothers.

SCAR. Would thou wert not so near me! yet, farewell.

THOM. By Nature and her laws make[419] us akin--
As near as are these hands, or sin to sin--
Draw and defend thyself, or I'll forget
Thou art a man.

SCAR. Would thou wert not my brother!

THOM. I disclaim thee[420].

SCAR. Are we not offspring of one parent, wretch?

THOM. I do forget it; pardon me the dead,
I should deny the pains you bid for me.
My blood grows hot for vengeance, thou hast spent
My life's revenues, that our parents purchas'd.

SCAR. O, do not rack me with remembrance on't.

THOM. Thou hast made my life a beggar in this world,
And I will make thee bankrupt of thy breath:
Thou hast been so bad, the best that I can give[421].
Thou art a devil: not with men to live.

SCAR. Then take a devil's payment

_Here they make a pass one upon another, when at Scarborow's
back come in_ ILFORD, WENTLOE, _and_ BARTLEY.

ILF. He's here; draw, gentlemen.

WEN., BART. Die, Scarborow.

SCAR. Girt round with death!

THOM. How, set upon by three! 'Sfoot, fear not, brother; you cowards,
three to one! slaves, worse than fencers that wear long weapons. You
shall be fought withal, you shall be fought withal.

[_Here the brothers join, drive the rest out, and return_.

SCAR. Brother, I thank you, for you now have been
A patr