cals.

BOB. It's not he: is it?

LOR. JU. Yes, faith, it is he.

MAT. I'll be hang'd then if that were he.

LOR. JU. Before God, it was he: you make me swear.

STEP. Upon my salvation, it was he.

BOB. Well, had I thought it had been he, he could not have
gone so, but I cannot be induced to believe it was he yet.

[ENTER GIU.]

GIU. Oh, gallant, have I found you? draw to your tools;
draw, or by God's will I'll thrash you.

BOB. Signior, hear me.

GIU. Draw your weapons then.

BOB. Signior, I never thought it till now: body of St.
George, I have a warrant of the peace served on me even
now, as I came along, by a water-bearer, this gentleman
saw it, Signior Matheo.

GIU. The peace! 'Sblood, you will not draw?

[MATHEO RUNS AWAY. HE BEATS HIM AND DISARMS HIM.]

LOR. JU. Hold, Signior, hold, under thy favour forbear.

GIU. Prate again as you like this, you whoreson cowardly
rascal, you'll control the point, you? your consort he is
gone; had he staid he had shared with you, in faith.

[EXIT GIULIANO.]

BOB. Well, gentlemen, bear witness, I was bound to the
peace, by Jesu.

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