Your swords.
Bel. (delivering his).My lord, behold my scimitar.
Arb. (drawing his sword). Take mine.
Sal. (advancing).I will.
Arb.But in your heart the blade—
The hilt quits not this hand.[l]
Sal. (drawing).How! dost thou brave me?
Tis well—this saves a trial, and false mercy.160
Soldiers, hew down the rebel!
Arb.Soldiers! Aye—