Eust. Pray hold, Sir.
Char. I cannot hold, you stand so fair before me; I must not hold; 'twill darken all my glories. Go to my Uncle, bid him post to the King, and get my pardon instantly, I have need on't.
Eust. Are you so unnatural?
Char. You shall die last, Sir, I'll take thee dead, thou art no man to fight with. Come, will ye come? Me-thinks I've fought whole Battels.
Cow. We have no quarrel to you that we know on, Sir.
Egre. We'll quit the house, and ask ye mercy too. Good Lady, let no murther be done here; we came but to parly.
Char. How my sword thirsts after them! Stand away, Sweet.
Eust. Pray, Sir, take my submission, and I disclaim for ever.
Char. Away, ye poor things, ye despicable creatures! do you come poste to fetch a Lady from me? from a poor School-boy that ye scorn'd of late, and grow lame in your hearts when you should execute? Pray take her, take her, I am weary of her: What did you bring to carry her?
Egre. A Coach and four Horses.