Timag. To have the hangman,
When he is married to the cross, in scorn
To say, Gods give you joy!
Leost. But look on me,
And be not too indulgent to your folly;
And then, but that grief stops my speech, imagine
What language I should use.
Cleo. Against thyself:
Thy malice cannot reach me.
Timag. How?
Cleo. No, brother,
Though you join in the dialogue to accuse me:
What I have done, I'll justify; and these favours,
Which, you presume, will taint me in my honour,
Though jealousy use all her eyes to spy out
One stain in my behaviour, or envy
As many tongues to wound it, shall appear
My best perfections. For, to the world,
I can in my defence allege such reasons,
As my accusers shall stand dumb to hear them;
When in his fetters this man's worth and virtues,
But truly told, shall shame your boasted glories,
Which fortune claims a share in.
Timag. The base villain
Shall never live to hear it. [Draws his sword.
Cleo. Murder! help!
Through me, you shall pass to him.
Enter Archidamus, Diphilus, and Officers.
Archid. What's the matter?
On whom is your sword drawn? are you a judge?
Or else ambitious of the hangman's office,
Before it be design'd you?—You are bold, too;
Unhand my daughter.
Leost. She's my valour's prize.