There were jewels stol'n too:
In my conceit, none are to be suspected
More than yourself.
BOSOLA. You are a false steward.
ANTONIO. Saucy slave, I 'll pull thee up by the roots.
BOSOLA. May be the ruin will crush you to pieces.
ANTONIO. You are an impudent snake indeed, sir:
Are you scarce warm, and do you show your sting?
You libel<54> well, sir?
BOSOLA. No, sir: copy it out,
And I will set my hand to 't.
ANTONIO. [Aside.] My nose bleeds.
One that were superstitious would count
This ominous, when it merely comes by chance.
Two letters, that are wrought here for my name,<55>
Are drown'd in blood!
Mere accident.--For you, sir, I 'll take order
I' the morn you shall be safe.--[Aside.] 'Tis that must colour
Her lying-in.--Sir, this door you pass not:
I do not hold it fit that you come near
The duchess' lodgings, till you have quit yourself.--
[Aside.] The great are like the base, nay, they are the same,
When they seek shameful ways to avoid shame.
Exit.
BOSOLA. Antonio hereabout did drop a paper:--
Some of your help, false friend.
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