_Alon._ I am paid
For being of the fashion.
_Dua._ Get a sword,
Then if you dare redeem your reputation:
You know I am easily found: I'le add this to it
To put you in mind.
_Rut._ You are too insolent,
And do insult too much on the advantage
Of that which your unequal weapon gave you,
More than your valour.
_Dua._ This to me, you Peasant?
Thou art not worthy of my foot poor fellow,
'Tis scorn, not pity, makes me give thee life:
Kneel down and thank me for't: how, do you stare?
_Rut._ I have a sword Sir, you shall find, a good one;
This is no stabbing guard.
_Dua._ Wert thou thrice arm'd,
Thus yet I durst attempt thee.
_Rut._ Then have at you, [_Fight._
I scorn to take blows.
_Dua._ O I am slain. [_Falls._
_Page._ Help! murther, murther!
_Alon._ Shift for your self you are dead else,
You have kill'd the Governou[r]s Nephew.
_Page._ Raise the streets there.
_Alon._ If once you are beset you cannot scape,
Will you betray your self?
_Rut_. Undone for ever. [_Exit_ Rut. _and_ Alonzo.
_Enter_ Officers.
_1 Off_. Who makes this out-cry?
_Page_. O my Lord is murdered;
This way he took, make after him,
Help help there.
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