Clea. Such is the rumour, and 'tis general.
Olin. I hear my passing bell.
Cal. I am in a fevour.
Cle. They say their seconds too; but what they are,
Is not known yet, some worthy fellows certain.
Dor. Where had you knowledge?
Clea. Of the Country people, 'tis spoken every where.
Dor. I heard it so too;
And 'tis so common, I do half believe it,
You have lost a Brother, wench, he lov'd you well,
And might have liv'd to have done his country service,
But he is gone, thou fell'st untimely, Lidian,
But by a valiant hand, that's some small comfort,
And took him with thee too, thou lov'st brave company,
Weeping will do no good, you lost a servant,
He might have liv'd to have been your Master, Lady,
But you fear'd that.
Olin. Good Sir, be tender to me,
The news is bad enough, you need not press it,
I lov'd him well, I lov'd 'em both.
Dor. It seems so.
How many more have you to love so Lady?
They were both fools to fight for such a Fiddle;
Certain there was a dearth of noble anger,
When a slight woman was thought worth a quarrel.
Olin. Pray you think nobler.