Pedro. My Anger may be fatal, Sir, as yours; And he that enters
here may prove this Truth. Ant. I know not who thou art, but I am sure
thou'rt worth my killing, and aiming at Angelica. [They draw and
fight. Enter Willmore and Blunt, who draw and part 'em. Blunt.
'Sheartlikins, here's fine doings. Will. Tilting for the Wench I'm
sure- nay gad, if that wou'd win her, I have as good a Sword as the
best of ye- Put up- put up, and take another time and place, for this
is design'd for Lovers only. [They all put up. Pedro. We are
prevented; dare you meet me to morrow on the Molo? For I've a Title to
a better quarrel, That of Florinda, in whose credulous Heart Thou'st
made an Int'rest, and destroy'd my Hopes. Ant. Dare? I'll meet thee
there as early as the Day. Pedro. We will come thus disguis'd, that
whosoever chance to get the better, he may escape unknown. Ant. It
shall be so. [Ex. Pedro and Stephano. Who shou'd this Rival be? unless
the English Colonel, of whom I've often heard Don Pedro speak; it must
be he, and time he were removed, who lays a Claim to all my Happiness.
[Willmore having gaz'd all this while on the Picture, pulls down a
little one. Will. This posture's loose and negligent, The sight on't
wou'd beget a warm desire In Souls, whom Impotence and Age had
chill'd. -This must along with me.
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