Gos. Yes, Sir, this little, I pray you,
And’t shall be aside, then after, as you please. 
You appear the Uncle, Sir, to her I love
More than mine eyes; and I have heard your scorns
With so much scoffing, and so much shame,
As each strive which is greater:  But, believe me,
I suck’d not in this patience with my milk. 
Do not presume, because you see me young,
Or cast despights on my profession
For the civility and tameness of it. 
A good man bears a contumely worse
Than he would do an injury.  Proceed not
To my offence:  wrong is not still successful,
Indeed it is not:  I would approach your Kins-woman
With all respect, done to your self and her.

Hem. Away Companion:  handling her? take that. [Strikes him.

Gos. Nay, I do love no blows, Sir, there’s exchange.

Hub. Hold, Sir. (He gets Hemskirks sword and cuts him on the head.

Mar. O murther.

Ger. Help my Goswin.

Mar. Man.

Van. Let ’em alone; my life for one.

Gos. Nay come, If you have will.

Hub. None to offend you, I, Sir.

Gos. He that had, thank himself:  not hand her? yes Sir,
And clasp her, and embrace her; and (would she
Now go with me) bear her through all her Race,
Her Father, Brethren, and her Uncles, arm’d,
And all their Nephews, though they stood a wood
Of Pikes, and wall of Canon:  kiss me Gertrude,
Quake not, but kiss me.

Van. Kiss him, Girl, I bid you;
My Merchant Royal; fear no Uncles:  hang ’em,
Hang up all Uncles:  Are not we in Bruges? 
Under the Rose here?

Gos. In this circle, Love, Thou art as safe, as in a Tower of Brass; Let such as do wrong, fear.

Van. I, that’s good, Let Wolfort look to that.

Gos. Sir, here she stands,
Your Niece, and my beloved.  One of these titles
She must apply to; if unto the last,
Not all the anger can be sent unto her,
In frown, or voyce, or other art, shall force her,
Had Hercules a hand in’t:  Come, my Joy,
Say thou art mine, aloud Love, and profess it.

Van. Doe:  and I drink to it.

Gos. Prethee say so, Love.

Ger. ’Twould take away the honour from my blushes:  Do not you play the tyrant, sweet:  they speak it.

Hem. I thank you niece.

Gos. Sir, thank her for your life, And fetch your sword within.

Hem. You insult too much With your good fortune, Sir. [Exeunt Gos. and Ger.

Hub. A brave clear Spirit;
Hemskirk, you were to blame:  a civil habit
Oft covers a good man:  and you may meet
In person of a Merchant, with a soul
As resolute, and free, and all wayes worthy,
As else in any file of man-kind:  pray you,
What meant you so to slight him?