Farre from her sought nest, still "Here tis" shee cryes.
Mont. Out on thee, damme of divels! I will quite
Disgrace thy bravos conquest, die, not fight. Lyes downe.
Tam. Out on my fortune, to wed such an abject!45
Now is the peoples voyce the voyce of God;
Hee that to wound a woman vants so much,
As hee did mee, a man dares never touch.
Cler. Revenge your wounds now, madame; I resigne him
Up to your full will, since hee will not fight.50