Belv. Who shou’d it be! pray Heaven the Rogue is safe, for all my Quarrel to him. [As Belvile is groping about, enter an Officer and six Soldiers.
Sold. Who’s there?
Offic. So, here’s one dispatcht—secure the Murderer.
Belv. Do not mistake my Charity for Murder:
I came to his Assistance. [Soldiers seize on Belvile.
Offic. That shall be tried, Sir.—St. Jago, Swords drawn in the Carnival time! [Goes to Antonio.
Ant. Thy Hand prithee.
Offic. Ha, Don Antonio! look well to the Villain there.—How is’t, Sir?
Ant. I’m hurt.
Belv. Has my Humanity made me a Criminal?