Fred. Come, be hearty,
He must strike through my life that takes ye from me. [Exeunt.
SCENE VIII.
Enter Petruchio, Antonio, and 2 Gent.
Petr. He will sure come. Are ye well arm'd?
Ant. Never fear us.
Here's that will make 'em dance without a Fiddle.
Petr. We are to look for no weak foes, my friends,
Nor unadvised ones.
Ant. Best gamesters make the best game,
We shall fight close and handsom then.
1 Gent. Antonio,
You are a thought too bloudy.
Ant. Why? all Physicians
And penny Almanacks allow the opening
Of veins this moneth: why do ye talk of bloudy?
What come we for, to fall to cuffes for apples?
What, would ye make the cause a Cudgel quarrel?
On what terms stands this man? is not his honour
Open'd to his hand, and pickt out like an Oyster?
His credit like a quart pot knockt together,
Able to hold no liquor? clear but this point.
Petr. Speak softly, gentle cousin.