Art sure he comes this road?
C. Saym. My messenger
Saw him start forth, and watched him past the crossways.
An hour will bring him here.
C. Wal. How! ambuscading?
I'll not sit by, while helpless priests are butchered.
Shame, gentles!
C. Saym. On my word, I knew not on't
Until this hour; my quarrel's not so sharp,
But I may let him pass: my name is righted
Before the Emperor, from all his slanders;
And what's revenge to me?
Gent. Ay, ay--forgive and forget--
The vermin's trapped--and we'll be gentle-handed,
And lift him out, and bid his master speed him,
Him and his firebrands. He shall never pass me.
C. Wal. I will not see it; I'm old, and sick of blood.
She loved him, while she lived; and charged me once,
As her sworn liegeman, not to harm the knave.
I'll home: yet, knights, if aught untoward happen,
And you should need a shelter, come to me:
My walls are strong. Home, knaves! we'll seek our wives,
And beat our swords to ploughshares--when folks let us.
[Exeunt Count Walter and suite.]
C. Saym. He's gone, brave heart!--But--sir, you will not dare?
The Pope's own Legate--think--there's danger in't.
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