Oliv. How, my husband! Oh, undone indeed! This way. [Exit.
Ver. Ha! You shall not escape me so, sir. [Stops Fidelia.
Fid. O Heavens! more fears, plagues, and torments yet in store! [Aside.
Ver. Come, sir, I guess what your business was here, but this must be your business now. Draw. [Draws.
Fid. Sir—
Ver. No expostulations; I shall not care to hear of't. Draw.
Fid. Good sir!
Ver. How, you rascal! not courage to draw; yet durst do me the greatest injury in the world? Thy cowardice shall not save thy life. [Offers to run at Fidelia.
Fid. O hold, sir, and send but your servant down, and I'll satisfy you, sir, I could not injure you as you imagine.
Ver. Leave the light and begone.—[Exit Servant.] Now, quickly, sir, what have you to say, or—