+Don H.+ Nay, then, thou shalt die too, perfidious man. Ho! Geraldo, Pedro, Leonido!
_Enter +Geraldo+, +Pedro+, and +Leonido+, with their swords drawn; they join with +Don Henrique+; +Don Carlos+ interposes._
+Don C.+ For heaven's sake, cousin, draw not on yourself The horrid infamy of assassinating Persons of noble blood by servile hands!
+Don H.+ Do you defend them too? Kill 'em, I say.
+Don A.+ Retire, Octavio, I'll sustain their shock.
+Don A.+ Trust me, you must, they will surround us else; Through that narrow passage they'll assail us With less advantage.
[_They retire, fighting, off the stage, +Don Henrique+ and his men pursuing them, and +Don Carlos+ endeavouring to stop +Don Henrique.+_
+Don H.+ What, d'ye give back, ye mighty men of fame?
+Don A.+ Don Henrique, you shall quickly find 'tis honour, Not fear, makes me retire. [_Exeunt._
_Enter presently +Don Antonio+ and +Don Octavio+ at another door, which +Don Antonio+ bolts._
+Don A.+ Now we shall have a breathing while at least, Octavio, and time to look about us. Pray, see yon other door be fast.
[_+Don Octavio+ steps to the door where they went out, and +Don Henrique+ bounces at the door they came in at._
+Don H.+ Geraldo, fetch an iron bar to force The door.
[_Within, aloud. +Don Antonio+ goes to both the doors, to see if they be fast._
+Don A.+ So, 'tis now as I could wish it.
+Don O.+ What do you mean, generous Antonio?
+Don A.+ To kill thee now myself:--having perform'd What my engagement did exact from me In your defence 'gainst others, my love now Requires its dues, as honour has had his. There's no protection for you from my sword But in your own, or in your frank renouncing All claim to Porcia; she is so much mine, That none must breathe and have the vanity Of a pretension to her whilst I live.
+Don O.+ I never will renounce my claims to Porcia, But still assert them by all noble ways: Yet, sir, this hand shall never use a sword (Without the last compulsion) 'gainst that man Who has so much oblig'd me. No, Antonio, You are securely guarded by the favours Which you so frankly have conferr'd upon me.
+Don A.+ Pray, sir, let not your pretended gratitude Enervate your defence: 'tis not my custom To serve my friends with prospects of return.