By my too sterne injurious jelousie.
Ren. Tis well your lordship will confesse your errour
In so good time yet.
Enter Baligny, with a challenge.
Mont. Death! who have wee here? [120]
Ho! Guard! Villaines!
Baligny. Why exclaime you so?
Mont. Negligent trayters! Murther, murther, murther!
Bal. Y'are mad. Had mine entent beene so, like yours,