A-tiptoe, this hand and sword should melt him:
Valiant Don Pedro!
And. Worthy Rogero, sure ’twas multitudes,
That made thee stoop to death; one Portugal
Could ne’er o’erwhelm thee in such crimson streams,
And no mean blood shall quit it, Balthezar,
Prince Balthezar!
Bal. Andrea, we meet in blood now.
And. Aye, in valiant blood of Don Rogero’s shedding,
And each drop is worth a thousand Portugals.