Arn. ’Tis above wonder.
Zab. But far beneath the truth, in my
relation
Of what you shall possess, if you emb[r]ace it.
There is an hour in each mans life appointed
To make his happiness if then he seize it,
And this, (in which, beyond all expectation,
You are invited to your good) is yours,
If you dare follow me, so, if not, hereafter
Expect not the like offer. [Exit.
Arn. ’Tis no vision.
Rut. ’Tis gold I’m sure.
Arn. We must like brothers share; There’s for you.
Rut. By this light I’m glad I have
it:
There are few Gallants, (for men may be such
And yet want gold, yea and sometimes silver)
But would receive such favours from the Devil,
Though he appear’d like a Broker, and demanded
Sixty i’th’ hundred.
Arn. Wherefore should I fear
Some plot upon my life? ’tis now to me
Not worth the keeping. I will follow him,
Farewel, wish me good fortune, we shall meet
Again I doubt not.
Rut. Or I’le ne’re trust Jew more, [Exit Arnoldo. Nor Christian for his sake—plague o’ my stars, How long might I have walkt without a Cloak, Before I should have met with such a fortune? We elder Brothers, though we are proper men, Ha’ not the luck, ha’ too much beard, that spoils us; The smooth Chin carries all: what’s here to do now? [Manet Rutilio.
Enter Duarte, Alonzo, and a Page.
Dua. I’le take you as I find you.
Alon. That were base—you see I am unarm’d.
Dua. Out with your Bodkin
Your Pocket-dagger, your Steletto, out with it,
Or by this hand I’le kill you: such as
you are
Have studied the undoing of poor Cutlers,
And made all manly weapons out of fashion:
You carry Poniards to murder men,
Yet dare not wear a sword to guard your Honour.
Rut. That’s true indeed: upon my life this gallant Is brib’d to repeal banisht swords.
Dua. I’le shew you The difference now between a Spanish Rapier And your pure Pisa.
Alon. Let me fetch a sword, Upon mine honour I’le return.
Dua. Not so Sir.
Alon. Or lend me yours I pray you, and take this.
Rut. To be disgrac’d as you are, no I
thank you
Spight of the fashion, while I live, I am
Instructed to go arm’d: what folly ’tis
For you that are a man, to put your self
Into your enemies mercy.
Dua. Yield it quickly
Or I’le cut off your hand, and now disgrace
you,
Thus kick and baffle you: as you like this,
You may again prefer complaints against me
To my Uncle and my Mother, and then think
To make it good with a Poniard.
Alon. I am paid For being of the fashion.
Dua. Get a sword,
Then if you dare redeem your reputation:
You know I am easily found: I’le add this
to it
To put you in mind.