Ran. What’s that, Rascal, or Coward?
Dar. Hah, which of thy Stars, young Man, has sent thee hither, to find that certain Fate they have decreed?
Ran. I know not what my Stars have decreed, but I shall be glad if they have ordain’d me to fight with Daring:—by thy concern thou shou’dst be he?
Dar. I am, prithee who art thou?
Ran. Thy Rival, though newly arrived from England, and came to marry fair Chrisante, whom thou hast ravish’d, for whom I hear another Lady dies.
Dar. Dies for me?
Ran. Therefore resign her fairly—or fight me fairly—
Dar. Come on, Sir—but hold—before I kill thee, prithee inform me who this dying Lady is?
Ran. Sir, I owe ye no Courtesy, and therefore will do you none by telling you—come, Sir, for Chrisante—[draw]. They offer to fight, Fearless steps in.
Fear. Hold—what mad Frolick’s this?—Sir, you fight for one you never saw to Ranter. and you for one that loves you not. To Dar.