Pedro. ’Tis he, the false Antonio!
Ant. Friend, where must I pay my offering of Love? [To the Bravo.] My Thousand Crowns I mean.
Pedro. That Offering I have design’d to make,
And yours will come too late.
Ant. Prithee be gone, I shall grow angry else,
And then thou art not safe.
Pedro. My Anger may be fatal, Sir, as yours;
And he that enters here may prove this Truth.
Ant. I know not who thou art, but I am sure thou’rt worth my killing, and aiming at Angelica. [They draw and fight.
Enter Willmore and Blunt, who draw and part ’em.