+Don O.+ And, sir, 'tis not my custom to receive An obligation, but with a purpose, And within the power of my return. Friendship, Antonio, is reciprocal. He that will only give, and not receive, Enslaves the person whom he would relieve.
+Don A.+ Your rule is right; but you apply it wrong. It was Octavio, my camerade in arms And ancient friend, whom I design'd to serve; Not that disloyal man who has invaded My honour and my love. 'Tis the intent Which forms the obligation, not th' event.
+Don O.+ I call those pow'rs, which both discern and punish, To witness for me that I never knew You e'er pretended to Don Henrique's sister, Before I came within these fatal walls: This I declare only to clear myself From th' imputation of disloyalty, And to prevent the progress of your error.
+Don A.+ How can I think you should speak truth to me Who am a witness y' have been false to her, To whom you now profess so high devotion?
+Don O.+ I false to Porcia! take heed, Antonio, So foul an injury provokes too much. But, sir, I must confess I owe you more Than the forgiveness of one gross mistake.
+Don A.+ Rare impudence! I must not trust my senses.
+Don O.+ If we cannot adjust this competition, Let's charge our envious fortunes, not our passions, With this fatal breach of friendship.
+Don A.+ Leave your discourses, and defend yourself; Either immediately renounce all claims To Porcia, or this must speak the rest. [_Shaking his sword._
[_They fight. A noise, as if the door were broken open._
_Enter +Don Henrique+, +Don Carlos+, +Leonido+, and +Geraldo+, with their swords drawn._
+Don H.+ What's this! Antonio fighting with Octavio? This bravery is excessive, gallant friend, Not to allow a share in your revenge To him who's most concern'd: he must not fall Without some marks of mine.
[_+Don Henrique+ makes at +Don Octavio+, and +Don Antonio+ turns to +Don Octavio's+ side._
+Don A.+ Nay, then my honour you invade anew, And, by assaulting him, revive in me My pre-engagements to protect and serve him Against all others.
+Don H.+ Why, were not you, Antonio, fighting with him? Were you not doing all you could to kill him?
+Don A.+ Henrique, 'tis true; but finding in my breast An equal strife 'twixt honour and revenge, I do, in just compliance with them both, Preserve him from your sword, to fall by mine.