George, I'll not kill him.
[THEY OFFER TO FIGHT AGAIN, AND ARE PARTED.]
PIS. Hold, hold, forbear.
GIU. You whoreson, bragging coistril.
[ENTER THORELLO.]
THO. Why, how now? what's the matter? what stir is here?
Whence springs this quarrel? Piso, where is he?
Put up your weapons, and put off this rage.
My wife and sister, they are cause of this.
What, Piso? where is this knave?
PIS. Here, sir.
PROS. Come, let's go: this is one of my brother's ancient
humours, this.
STEP. I am glad nobody was hurt by this ancient humour.
[EXIT PROSPERO, LORENZO JU., MUSCO, STEPHANO, BOBADILLA,
MATHEO.]
THO. Why, how now, brother, who enforced this brawl?
GIU. A sort of lewd rake-hells, that care neither for God
nor the devil. And they must come here to read ballads and
roguery, and trash. I'll mar the knot of them ere I sleep,
perhaps; especially Signior Pithagoras, he that's all
manner of shapes: and songs and sonnets, his fellow there.
HES. Brother, indeed you are too violent,
Too sudden in your courses, and you know
My brother Prospero's temper will not bear
Any reproof, chiefly in such a presence,
Where every slight disgrace he should receive,
Would wound him in opinion and respect.
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