San. No, turn, I'll kill him here then: Slaves, Rogues, Bloks.
Why do you not bear me to him? ha' you been
Acquainted with my motions, loggs, so long
And yet not know to time 'em.
Phi. Were you Sir
Not impotent.
Alph. Hold you your peace Boy.
Sanc. Impotent,
'Death, I'll cut his throat first, and then his Fathers.
Alph. You must provide you then a sharper Razor
Than is your tongue, for I not fear your sword.
Sanc. 'Heart bear me to either of 'em.
Phi. Pray Sir your patience.
Enter Governor and Attendants.
Alph. My curse light on thee if thou stay him.
Phi. Hold.