[Making another thrust at him.
Lop. Take heed, Sir; you'll do one a mischief before you're aware.
Lop. What recompence can'st thou make me, wretch, for this piece of treachery? Thy sordid blood can't expiate the thousandth——But I'll have it however.
[Thrusts again.
Lop. Look you there again: pray, Sir, be quiet; is the devil in you? 'Tis bad jesting with edg'd tools. I'gad that last push was within an inch o' me. I don't know what you make all this bustle about, but I'm sure I've done all for the best, and I believe it will prove for the best too at last, if you'll have but a little patience. But if gentlemen will be in their airs in a moment—Why, what the deuce——I'm sure I have been as eloquent as Cicero, in your behalf; and I don't doubt to good purpose too, if you'll give things time to work. But nothing but foul language, and naked swords about the house, sa, sa; run you through you dog; why, nobody can do business at this rate.
Lor. And suppose your project fails, and I'm ruin'd by it, Sir.
Lop. Why, 'twill be time enough to kill me then, Sir? won't it? What should you do it for now? Besides, I an't ready, I'm not prepar'd, I might be undone by't.
Lor. But what will Leonora say to her marriage being known, wretch?
Lop. Why may be she'll draw——her sword too. [Shewing his tongue.] But all shall be well with you both, if you will but let me alone.
Lor. Peace; here's her father.