Bel. Mine own pardon (Sir) for my joyes rudeness:
In what place better could I meet my foe,
And both of us so well provided too?
He with some black blood-thirsty crime upon him,
That (ere the horse-leech burst) will suck him dry:
I with a second accusation,
Enough to break his neck, if need should be,
And then to have even Justice it self to right us:
How should I make my joyes a little civil,
They might not keep this noyse?
Ant. Here is some hope.
Should the ax be dull, the halter's preparing.
Phil. What's your accusation, Sir? We have heard the former.
Enter Julio.
Bel. Mine (my Lord?) a strong one.
Jul. A false one, Sir.
At least malicious: an evidence
Of hatred and despight: He would accuse
My poor kinsman of that he never dream'd of,
Nor waking saw; the stealing of his daughter,
She whom, I know, he would not look upon.
Speak Antonio, Didst thou ever see her?
Ant. Yes Sir, I have seen her.
Bel. Ah ha, friend Julio.
Jul. He might, but how? with an unheedful eye,
An accidental view, as men see multitudes
That the next day dare not precisely say
They saw that face, or that amongst 'em all.
Didst thou so look on her?
Bel. Guilty, guilty:
His looks hang themselves.