Mar. I will go up; a woman is no wild-fire.
Ant. Now by my life she is sweet: Stay good Martin,
They are of our enemies; the house of Bellides.
Our mortal enemies:
Mar. Let 'em be devils,
They appear so handsomly, I will go forward;
If these be enemies, I'll ne'r seek friends more.
Ant. Prethee forbear, the Gentlewomen.
Mar. That's it (man)
That moves me like a Gin.
'Pray ye stand off Ladies:
Lis. They are both our enemies: both hate us equally;
By this fair day our mortal foes.
Ter. I know 'em,
And come here to affront: how they gape at us!
They shall have gaping work.
Ism. Why your swords, Gentlemen?
Ter. Pray ye stand you off, Cosen,
And good now leave your whistling: we are abus'd all:
Back, back I say:
Lis. Go back.