Seb.
I would not by my will have troubled you.
But since you make your pleasure of your pains,
I will no further chide you.

Ant.
I could not stay behind you; my desire,
(More sharp than filed steel,) did spur me forth;
And not all love to see you, (tho' so much,
As might have drawn one to a longer voyage.)
But jealousie what might befall your Travel,
Being skilless in these Parts; which to a stranger,
Unguided and unfriended, often prove
Rough and unhospitable. My willing love,
The rather by these arguments of fear,
Set forth in your pursuit.

Seb.
My kind Anthonio,
(14) ^note

Ant.
To morrow, Sir; best, first, go see your lodging.

Seb.
I am not weary, and 'tis long to night;
I pray you, let us satisfie our eyes
With the Memorials, and the things of Fame,
That do renown this City.

Ant.
Would, you'd pardon me:
I do not without danger walk these Streets.
Once, in a Sea-fight 'gainst the Duke his Gallies,
I did some service, of such note, indeed,
That were I ta'en here, it would scarce be answer'd.

Seb.
Belike, you slew great number of his people.

Ant.
Th' offence is not of such a bloody nature,
Albeit the quality of the time and quarrel
Might well have given us bloody argument:
It might have since been answer'd in repaying
What we took from them, which, for Traffick's sake,
Most of our City did. Only my self stood out;
For which, if I be lapsed in this place,
I shall pay dear.

Seb.
Do not then walk too open.

Ant.
It doth not fit me: hold, Sir, here's my purse.
In the south suburbs at the Elephant
Is best to lodge: I will bespeak our diet,
Whiles you beguile the time, and feed your knowledge
With viewing of the Town; there shall you have me.

Seb.
Why I your purse?

Ant.
Haply, your eye shall light upon some toy
You have desire to purchase; and your store,
I think, is not for idle markets, Sir.

Seb.
I'll be your purse-bearer, and leave you for
An Hour.

Ant.
To th' Elephant.—

Seb.
I do remember. [Exeunt.

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