CAREY (ANNOYED). Zounds, and zounds again!
A pest upon the fellow! (He strides up and down the room, keeping out of the way of his sword as much as possible.) Would that I might pink the pesky knave!
DOROTHY (turning upon him a look of hate). Would that you might have the chance, my lord, so it were in fair fighting. Methinks Roger's sword-arm will not have lost its cunning in the wars.
CAREY. A traitor to fight against his King!
DOROTHY. He fights for what he thinks is right. (She takes out his letter and kisses it.)
CAREY (observing the action). You have a letter from him!
DOROTHY (hastily concealing it, and turning pale). How know you that?
CAREY. Give it to me! (She shrieks and rises.) By heavens, madam, I will have it! [He struggles with her and seizes it.
Enter Sir Thomas.
SIR THOMAS. Odds life, my lord, what means this?