Ard. Call you that pardon, Biondel?
Bion. I speak
No pardon.
Ard. But you shall—you must. O, say it!
You know our father goes to Oswald.
Vig. Know
That fools and women talk! The gates are sealed.
Bion. I'll guard the pass against my father's self
If so much rudeness may make stand between
His death and life.
Char. My sons, I thank your love,
But I go down. The guards, the gates are mine,
And to my will they open.
Vig. 'Tis that girl,
That silvery Greek——
Char. If your quick blood must stir,
Let manners grace it.
Ard. O, my dearest brothers,
Do you not love me?
Bion. Better than you know.
We love you, serve you, though yourself obstruct
The way to safety.