_Sis_. I pray stay.
My name traduc'd? who was so impudent?
Do me the grace to let me know on whome
Your valour had been exercis'd.
_De_. Why, the formall thing _Courtwell_; I would [not] call him
Gentleman; but that I ha baffled him
You need no other witnes but his sword
With that fine holliday hilt, Ladie.
[_She_shutts_the_Doore_.
_Sis_. Looke you, sir, I ha made fast the Doore,
Because I meane before you goe to have
A satisfaction for the base injury
You ha done me.
_De_.
I done you injurie!
_Sis_. Not that I value _Courtwell_, whome you would
Pretend has been to saucy with my honour;
But, cause I scorne to owne a goodnes should
Depend upon your sword or vindication,
Ile fight with you my selfe in this small vollume
Against your bulke in folio.
_Cou_.
Excellent wench!
_De_. I was your Champion, lady.
_Sis_.
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