Close to your chamber. My unruly son,
When his mad passion’s roused, neither respects
Person or place.
Viol. Nay, sir, I pardon him.
And should, for I’m the cause! (Aside.)
Blan. Ah, wretched I,
Who by the very means I would prevent
His going forth, have oped the door to him.
(Noise within of swords, and the voices of Lope and Guillen fighting.)
Urr. What noise is that again?