Y. ART. But soft, sir, see where my two fathers are
Busily talking; let us shrink aside,
For if they see me, they are bent to chide.
[Exeunt Y. ARTHUR and Y. LUSAM.
O. ART. I think 'tis best to go straight to the house,
And make them friends again; what think ye, sir?
O. LUS. I think so too.
O. ART. Now I remember, too, that's not so good:
For divers reasons, I think best stay here,
And leave them to their wrangling—what think you?
O. LUS. I think so too.
O. ART. Nay, we will go, that's certain.
O. LUS. Ay, 'tis best, 'tis best—
In sooth, there's no way but to go.
O. ART. Yet if our going should breed more unrest,
More discord, more dissension, more debate,
More wrangling where there is enough already?
'Twere better stay than go.
O. LUS. 'Fore God, 'tis true;
Our going may, perhaps, breed more debate,
And then we may too late wish we had stay'd;
And therefore, if you will be rul'd by me,
We will not go, that's flat: nay, if we love
Our credits or our quiets, let's not go.