Leon. To be surpriz'd—the sin
Is in it self excusable; to be taken
Is a crime, as the Poet writes.
Clar. You know my weakness,
And that makes you so confident. You have got
A fair sword; was it not Lisanders?
Leon. Yes Wench,
And I grown valiant by the wearing of it:
It hath been the death of two. With this Lisander
Slew Clor[id]on, and Chrysanthes. I took it up,
Broken in the handle, but that is reform'd,
And now in my possession; the late Master
Dares never come to challenge it: this sword,
And all the weapons that I have, are ever
Devoted to thy service: Shall we bill?
I am very gamesome.
Clar. I must first dispose of
The fool Malfort; he hath smoak'd you, and is not,
But by some new device to be kept from me:
I have it here shall fit him: you know where
You must expect me, with all possible silence
Get thither.
Leon. You will follow?
Clar. Will I live?
She that is forfeited to lust must dye,
That humour being unfed; begone, here comes [Exit Le.
Enter Malfort in Armour.
Malf. What adventure
I am bound upon I know not, but it is
My Mistresses pleasure that I should appear thus.
I may perhaps be terrible to others,
But as I am, I am sure my shadow frights me,
The clashing of my Armour in my ears,
Sounds like a passing-bell; and my Buckler, puts me
In mind of a Bier; this my broad Sword a pick-axe
To dig my grave: O love, abominable love,
What Monsters issue from thy dismal den,
Clarinda's placket, which I must encounter,
Or never hope to enter?
Clar. Here's a Knight errant, Monsieur Malfort.