Mir. 'Tis not thy cause,
Thou hast no reputation wounded in't,
Thine's but a general zeal: 'death: I am tainted,
The dearest twyn to life, my credit's murder'd,
Bafl'd and boy'd.
Mount. I am glad ye have swallow'd it,
I must confess I pity ye; and 'tis a justice,
A great one too, you should revenge these injuries:
I know it, and I know ye fit and bold to do it,
And man, as much as man may: but Miranda,
Why do ye kneel?
Mir. By —— I'll grow to the ground here,
And with my sword dig up my grave, and fall in't
Unless thou grant me: dear Mountferrat, friend,
Is any thing in my power, to my life, Sir?
The honor shall be yours.
Mount. I love ye dearly,
Yet so much I should tender.
Mir. I'll preserve all:
By —— I will: or all the sin fall with me,
Pray let me.
Mount. Ye have won: I'll once be coward
To pleasure you.
Mir. I kiss your hands, and thank ye.
Mount. Be tender of my credit, and fight bravely.
Mir. Blow not the fire that flames.
Mount. I'll send mine Armor,
My man shall presently attend ye with it,
For you must arm immediately, the hour calls,
I know 'twill fit ye right; be sure, and secret,
And last be fortunate; farewel: ye are fitted:
I am glad the load's off me.