John. Bless mine eyes from blasting,
I was never so frighted with a case.
Bawd. And so Sir—
Petr. Enough, put up good velvet head.
Duke. What are you two now,
By your own free confessions?
Fred. What you shall think us,
Though to my self I am certain, and my life
Shall make that good and perfect, or fall with it.
John. We are sure of nothing, Fred, that's the truth on't:
I do not think my name's Don John, nor dare not
Believe any thing that concerns me, but my debts,
Nor those in way of payment: things are so carried,
What to entreat your grace, or how to tell ye
We are, or we are not, is past my cunning,
But I would fain imagine we are honest,
And o' my conscience, I should fight in't—
Duke. Thus then,
For we may be all abus'd.
Petr. 'Tis possible,
For how should this concern them?
Duke. Here let's part—
Until to morrow this time: we to our way,
To make this doubt out, and you to your way;
Pawning our honours then to meet again,
When if she be not found.
Fred. We stand engaged
To answer any worthy way we are call'd to.