Omnes. The prince!
Ven. Come home, my sister, to my heart.
Ver. And now Lorenzo is again my belov'd kinsman.
Ant. O sir, here dwells virtue epitomis'd,
Even to an abstract, and yet that so large
'Twill swell a book in folio.
Lod. She swells beyond my wife then:
A pocket-book, bound in decimo sexto,
Will hold her virtues, and as much spare paper left
As will furnish five tobacco-shops.
Mil. But here's the wonder; who is it was slain
In your apparel?
Phil. I will give them all the slip. [Offers to go.
Ant. Here's a gentleman of Ferrara——
Phil. As you are noble——
Ant. That saw them fight: it was the slave was slain, sir,
I took before Palermo: he that kill'd him,
Took him but for a gentleman his equal;
And as this eye-witness says, he in my apparel
Did kick the t'other first.