Fri. P.
Hold, hold, my lord, this rudeness is too much.
I am the guardian of this lady's person;
A charge deliver'd by the king himself;
And will not bear to see her thus insulted.

Scroop.
Thou busy priest, be straitway gone and leave us;
Or I will persecute thee to thy ruin.
Art thou th' old paramour of this same harlot?
Or play'st thou but the advocate of others,
Whose lustful blood boils fiercer than thine own?
If so, be gone, and know thine office better.
There is my purse—go wait, I say, without.

Fri. P.
My lord, this mean abuse but ill becomes you.
But know, I will not go. My character
And innocence protect me: nor shall you
Stay, to repeat your insults on this fair one.

Scroop.
Who shall prevent me? [Offers to draw, but is hinder'd by friar Lawrence, who, standing behind, seizes his sword.
Hell and vengeance! where—
Where are my servants?

Fri. P.
I, my lord, dismiss'd them.

Scroop.
Priests, you shall hear of this: shall loudly hear of it.
Give me my sword.

Fri. L.
Not while you're thus impatient.

Fri. P.
No; keep it. I will answer't to the king.

Scroop.
Thou answer't to the king! thou paltry friar!

Fri. P.
Yea, by my life and loyalty, I will:
Therefore my lord 'twere better you retire.

Scroop.
I will, and to thy ruin, baudy priest.
Thou, harlot, art provided for, I see,
With these two brawny friars.—Thou shalt rue it. [Exit Scroop.

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