_Mar._ Come, Sir, your Sword.

_Silv._ You are my Brother, and 'twere an impious Action,
To fight you unprovok'd: give me a cause,
Nay, and a just one too, or I shall find it hard
--To wound _Cleonte's_ Brother. [Aside sighing.

_Mar._ Thou cam'st prepar'd to talk, and not to fight.
I cannot blame thee for't, for were I _Silvio_,
Thus I would do to save a Life belov'd:
[Offers to fight, _Silvio_ steps back.
But 'twill not serve you now.

_Silv._ Your Reason, Sir, and I'm ready, if it be just.

_Mar._ Oh do not urge me to repeat my Wrongs,
For if thou dost, I hardly shall have Man enough remain
To fight thee fairly. [Offers still.

_Silv._ Surely he knows my Passion for _Cleonte_-- [Aside.
I urge the Reason still.

_Mar._ Hast thou forgot thy last Night's Treachery?
How like a Thief thou stol'st into her Lodgings?

_Silv._ 'Tis so-- 'tis true, _Marcel_, I rudely did intrude--

_Mar._ Oh, quickly haste-- this looks like Women's jangling.
[Offers to fight again.

_Silv._ Oh, is it bravely done, _Marcel_, to punish
A Passion which you ought to pity rather?
'Tis what I cannot reconcile nor justify:
And so distracted it has made me too--
I will not fight in so unjust a Cause.
Kill me, and I'll embrace you whilst I die;
A thousand Wounds imprinted on this Body,
Will bring less Pain than that her Eyes have caus'd.
Here strike-- Pity my Pain and ease me.
[Opens his Arms, and throws away his Sword.

_Mar._ I find thou hast a Charm about thy Tongue,
And thou implor'st thy Death in such a way,
I cannot hurt thee; and it gives me hopes
Thou art not yet so bless'd to be belov'd,
For then thou wouldst not be thus desperate.

_Silv._ Oh yes, I am belov'd.

_Mar._ Oh do not say thou art,
Nor take me from a Calmness, that may spare thee.

_Silv._ Not say I am belov'd! thou canst not hire me
With Life or fuller Joy, to say I am not.
If there be Truth and Love in Innocence, she loves me.

_Mar._ Yet, yet, ye Gods, I can endure-- say, but thou art not,
For I would yet preserve thee.

_Silv._ Oh, canst thou wish that I should fall so low,
To save my Life with Lyes; the poorest Sin of all the number?

_Mar._ Then once again thou hast debauch'd my Pity.
[Takes to his Sword.

_Silv._ Her Passion I will justify, but not my own;
Her's is as pure as Prayers of Penitence;
But mine-- I cannot give a Name to.
[They fight: Enter _Alon