Belv. Death! who shou’d this be? [Aside.
[Ant.] He challeng’d me to meet him on the Molo,
As soon as Day appear’d; but last Night’s quarrel
Has made my Arm unfit to guide a Sword.
Belv. I apprehend you, Sir, you’d have me kill the Man
That lays a claim to the Maid you speak of.
—I’ll do’t—I’ll fly to do it.
Ant. Sir, do you know her?
Belv. —No, Sir, but ’tis enough she is admired by you.
Ant. Sir, I shall rob you of the Glory on’t,