Enter Clifford.
Lord G. I waited for you, sir.
Cliff. [Bows in Silence.]
Lord G. That ceremonial would grace an encounter of punctilio, but applies ill to the terms upon which I have called you here.
Cliff. What terms are those, my lord?
Lord G. Vengeance! Ample, final vengeance! Draw, sir.
Cliff. No, my lord; my sword is reserved for more becoming purposes: It is not the instrument of passion; and has yet been untried in a dispute with my friend.
Lord G. But why is it not ready for a different trial, the vindication of perfidy, the blackest species of perfidy, that ever the malignant enemy of mankind infused into the human breast—perfidy to the friend who loved and trusted you, and in the nearest interests of his heart.
Cliff. Take care, my lord; should my blood boil like yours, and it is rising fast, you know not the punishment that awaits you. I came temperate, your gross provocation and thirst of blood make temperance appear disgrace—I am tempted to take a revenge—
Lord G. [Draws.] The means are ready. Come, sir, you are to give an example of qualities generally held incompatible—bravery and dishonour.