SCENE II.

Ant. Cut his wind-pipe I say. 1 Gent. Fye, Antonio. Ant. Or knock his brains out first, and then forgive him, If you do thrust, be sure it be to th'hilts, A Surgeon may see through him. 1 Gent. You are too violent. 2 Gent. Too open undiscreet. Pet. Am I not ruin'd? The honour of my house crack'd? my bloud poyson'd? My Credit and my Name? 2 Gent. Be sure it be so, Before ye use this violence: Let not doubt, And a suspecting anger so much sway ye, Your wisedom may be question'd. Ant. I say kill him, And then dispute the cause; cut off what may be, And what is shall be safe. 2 Gent. Hang up a true man, Because 'tis possible he may be thievish! Alas, is this good Justice? Pet. I know as certain As day must come again, as clear as truth, And open as belief can lay it to me, That I am basely wrong'd, wrong'd above recompence; Maliciously abus'd, blasted for ever In name and honour, lost to all remembrance, But what is smear'd, and shameful; I must kill him, Necessity compells me. 1 Gent. But think better. Pet. There is no other cure left; yet witness with me, All that is fair in man, all that is noble, I am not greedy of this life I seek for, Nor thirst to shed mans blood, and would 'twere possible, I wish it with my soul, so much I tremble To offend the sacred Image of my Maker, My Sword could only kill his Crimes; no, 'tis Honour, Honour, my noble friends, that Idol, Honour, That all the world now worships, not Petruchio Must do this Justice. Ant. Let it once be done, And 'tis no matter, whether you, or honour, Or both, be accessary. 2 Gent. Do you weigh, Petruchio, The value of the person, power, and greatness, And what this spark may kindle? Pet. To perform it, So much I am ty'd to Reputation, And Credit of my house, let it raise wild-fires, That all this Dukedom smoak, and storms that toss me Into the waves of everlasting ruine, Yet I must through; if ye dare side me. Ant. Dare? Pet. Y'are friends indeed, if not. 2 Gent. Here's none flyes from you, Do it in what design ye please, we'll back ye. 1 Gent. But then be sure ye kill him. 2 Gent. Is the cause So mortal, nothing but his life? Pet. Believe me, A less offence has been the desolation Of a whole name. 2 Gent. No other way to purge it? Pet. There is, but never to be hoped for. 2 Gent. Think an hour more, And if then ye find no safer Road to guide ye, We'll set up our Rests too. Ant. Mine's up already, And hang him for my part Goes less than life. 2 Gent. If we see noble cause, 'tis like our Swords May be as free and forward as your words. [Exeunt.