THOM. At peace for what? For spending my inheritance?
By yonder sun that every soul has life by,
As sure as thou hast life, I'll fight with thee.
SCAR. I'll not be mov'd unto't.
THOM. I'll kill thee then, wert thou now clasp'd
Within thy mother, wife, or children's arms.
SCAR. Would'st, homicide? art so degenerate?
Then let my blood grow hot.
THOM. For it shall cool.
SCAR. To kill rather than be kill'd is manhood's rule.
Enter JOHN SCARBOROW.
JOHN. Stay, let not your wraths meet.
THOM. Heart! what mak'st thou here?
JOHN. Say, who are you, or you? are you not one,
That scarce can make a fit distinction
Betwixt each other? Are you not brothers?