Amid.  I’ll kill both thee and her, Rather than any one but I shall have him.

Hip.  Come on, thou witch.

Amid.  Have at thy heart, thou Syren.

[They draw and fight awkwardly, not coming near one another.

Amid.  I think I paid you there.

Hip.  O stay a little,
And tell me in what corner of thy heart
Gonsalvo lies, that I may spare that place.

Amid.  He lies in the last drop of all my blood, And never will come out, but with my soul.

Hip.  Come, come, we dally;
Would one of us were dead, no matter which! [They fight nearer.

Enter Don MANUEL.

Man.  The pretty boys, that serve Gonsalvo, fighting!  I come in time to save the life of one.

 [HIPPOLITO gets AMIDEO down in closing: 
 MANUEL takes away their swords.

Hip.  For goodness’ sake, hinder not my revenge.

Amid.  The noble Manuel has saved my life:  Heavens, how unjustly have I hated him. [Aside.

Man.  What is it, gentle youths, that moves you thus? 
I cannot tell what causes you may find;
But, trust me, all the world, in so much sweetness,
Would be to seek where to begin a quarrel: 
You seem the little Cupids in the song,
Contending for the honey-bag.

Hip.  ’Tis well You’re come; you may prevent a greater mischief:  Here ’tis Gonsalvo has appointed Roderick—­

Man.To fight?

Hip.  What’s worse:  to give your sister to him. 
Won by her tears, he means to leave her free,
And to redeem her misery with his: 
At least so I conjecture.

Man.  ’Tis a doubtful
Problem; either he loves her violently,
Or not at all.

Amid.  You have betrayed my master:—­

[To HIPPOLITO. Aside.

Hip.  If I have injured you, I mean to give you The satisfaction of a gentlewoman.

Enter GONSALVO and JULIA.

Man.  Oh, they are here; now I shall be resolved.

Jul.  My brother Manuel! what fortune’s this!

Man.  I’m glad I have prevented you.

Gons.  With what
Variety my fate torments me still! 
Never was man so dragged along by virtue;
But I must follow her.

Jul.  Noble Gonsalvo, Protect me from my brother.

Gons.  Tell me, sir, When you bestowed your sister on me, did not You give her freely up to my dispose?

Man.  ’Tis true, I did; but never with intent You should restore her to my enemy.

Gons.  ’Tis past; ’tis done:  She undermined my soul With tears; as banks are sapped away by streams.

Man.  I wonder what strange blessing she expects From the harsh nature of this Rodorick; A man made up of malice and revenge.