Bust. But then, at next encounter, he fetches me up
Lisauro; Lisauro makes out a long at him, which he thinking
to be a Passado, Antonio's foot slipping: down: oh down.
Jul. O now thou art lost.
Bust. Oh, but the quality of the thing: both Gentlemen,
both Spanish Christians, yet one man to shed....
Jul. Say his enemies blood.
Bust. His hair, may come by divers casualties, though he
never go into the field with his foe: but a man to lose nine
ounces and two drams of blood at one wound, thirteen and a
scruple at another, and to live till he dye in cold blood: yet
the Surgeon (that cur'd him) said if Pia-mater had not been
perish'd, he had been a lives man till this day.
Jul. There he concludes he is gone.
Bust. But all this is nothing: now I come to the point.
Jul. I, the point, that's deadly: the antient blow
Over the buckler, ne'r went half so deep.
Bust. Yet pitty bids me keep in my charity: for me to
pull an old mans ears from his head with telling of a Tale:
oh fowle Tale! No, be silent Tale. Farthermore, there is
the charge of Buriall; every one will cry Blacks, Blacks,
that had but the least finger dipt in his blood, though ten
degrees remov'd when 'twas done. Moreover, the Surgeon
(that made an end of him) will be paid: Sugar-plums and
sweet breads; yet I say, the man may recover again, and dye
in his bed.
Jul. What motley stuff is this? Sirrha, speak truth
What hath befallen my dear Antonio?
Restrain your pitty in concealing it;
Tell me the danger full; take off your care
Of my receiving it: kill me that way,
I'll forgive my death; what thou keepst back from truth
Thou shalt speak in pain; do not look to find
A limb in his right place, a bone unbroke,
Nor so much flesh unbroil'd of all that mountain,
As a worm might sup on, dispatch, or be dispatch'd.