With God's help I retain, despite my sense,
The old belief--a life like yours is still
Impossible. Now draw!
MERTOUN. Not for my sake,
Do I entreat a hearing--for your sake,
And most, for her sake!
TRESHAM. Ha, ha, what should I
Know of your ways? A miscreant like yourself,
How must one rouse his ire? A blow?--that's pride
No doubt, to him! One spurns him, does one not?
Or sets the foot upon his mouth, or spits
Into his face! Come! Which, or all of these?
MERTOUN. 'Twixt him and me and Mildred, Heaven be judge!
Can I avoid this? Have your will, my lord!
[He draws and, after a few passes, falls.]
TRESHAM. You are not hurt?
MERTOUN. You'll hear me now!
TRESHAM. But rise!
MERTOUN. Ah, Tresham, say I not "you'll hear me now!"
And what procures a man the right to speak
In his defence before his fellow man,
But--I suppose--the thought that presently
He may have leave to speak before his God
His whole defence?
TRESHAM. Not hurt? It cannot be!
You made no effort to resist me. Where
Did my sword reach you? Why not have returned
My thrusts? Hurt where?
MERTOUN. My lord--
TRESHAM. How young he is!
MERTOUN. Lord Tresham, I am very young, and yet
I have entangled other lives with mine.
Do let me speak, and do believe my speech!
That when I die before you presently,--
TRESHAM.
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