Mel. Away, sir! I am in no humor for jesting. Damas. I see you understand something of the grammar; you decline the non-substantive “small-swords” with great ease; but that won’t do—you must take a lesson in parsing.
Mel. Fool! Damas. Sir, as sons take after their mother, so the man who calls me a fool insults the lady who bore me; there’s no escape for you—fight you shall, or—
Mel. Oh, enough! enough!—take your ground.
They fight; DAMAS is disarmed. MELNOTTE takes up the sword and returns it to DAMAS respectfully. A just punishment to the brave soldier who robs the state of its best property—the sole right to his valor and his life.
Damas. Sir, you fence exceedingly well; you must be a man of honor—I don’t care a jot whether you are a prince; but a man who has carte and tierce at his fingers’ ends must be a gentleman.
Mel. [aside.] Gentleman! Ay, I was a gentleman before I turned conspirator; for honest men are the gentlemen of Nature! Colonel, they tell me you rose from the ranks.
Damas. I did.
Mel. And in two years!
Damas. It is true; that’s no wonder in our army at present. Why the oldest general in the service is scarcely thirty, and we have some of two-and-twenty.
Mel. Two-and-twenty!