Mir.
O dear father,
Make not too rash a trial of him, for
He’s gentle, [and] not fearful.
Pros.
What! I say,
My [foot] my tutor? Put thy sword up, traitor;
470 Who [makest] a show, but darest not strike, thy conscience
Is [so] possess’d with guilt: come from thy ward;
For I can here disarm thee with this stick