Enter Bravo.
Bravo. Why, if I kill'd him, what is that to thee?
Was I not hir'd unto it? 'twas not I,
But the base gold that slew Sir Polydore:[362]
Then damn the money,
Lor. He begins to preach.
Æmi. Will he do us no mischief, think you?
Boy. O no, he's the best for that in his fits that e'er you knew: he hurts nobody.
Moc. But I am vilely afraid of him.
Boy. If you are a vile person, or have done any great wickedness, you were best look to yourself; for those he knows by instinct, and assaults them with as much violence as may be.
Moc. Then am I perished. Good sir, I had rather answer the law than be terrified with his looks.
Lor. Nay, you shall tarry, and take part with us, by your favour.
Æmi. How his eyes sparkle!