Clow. Heere comes the tother; this is lucke upon lucke. Now will I run and fetch my mistris the Lady Katharine to part their fray. [Exit.
Pem. Good end succeed my early heavynesse!
Three times my feet, as loth to guide me hither,
Have stumbled in a playne and even way.
My sword forsooke his scabbard once or twice;
Bloud from my nostrills thrice hath spowted forth,
And such a dymnesse overrunnes my sight
That I have tane a tree to bee a man
And question'd with it about serious things.
This is the place where I must meet my friend:
Yonder he stands.—Good morrow, Ferdinand.
Ferd. Good morrow to thy death. Draw, Pembrooke, draw, The ground thou treadst upon must be thy grave.
Pem. Draw upon Ferdinand?
Ferd. I, upon me. Dally not, Pembrooke; I am bent to fight And that with thee for the best blood thou bearst.
Pem. You have some reason for this resolution.
Ferd. My will.
Pem. A sorry argument to kill your friend.
I must have better reason then your will
Or Ile not draw upon my Ferdinand.
Our love is older then of one dayes growth;
A yeres continuance hath united us.
Have we not made an enterchange of othes,
Sworne love to one another twenty times,
Confirmd that friendship by society,
Encreasde it with the simpathy of mind,
Making one pleasure pleasure unto both?
And shall this bond be broken upon will?
Ferd. Then youle not draw?
Pem. Yes, neerer to thy person In friendly sort to embrace thee, Ferdinand.