Mal. Why, quarrelled o’ set purpose, drew him out,
Singled him, and, having the advantage
Of my sword and might, ran him through and through.
Fra. Vat did you vid him van he was sticken?
Mal. I dragg’d him by the heels to the next wharf,
And spurn’d him in the river.
[Those in ambush rusheth forth and take him.
Sir Lio. Seize, seize him!
O monstrous! O ruthless villain!
Mal. What mean you, gentlemen? By heaven——
Tyse. Speak not of anything that’s good. 49
Mal. Your errors gives you passion: Freevill lives.
Sir Lio. Thy own lips say thou liest.
Mal. Let me die, if at Shatewe’s the jeweller he lives not safe untouch’d.