3. SCENE III. A street.
[Enter ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN.]
I would not by my will have troubled you;
But since you make your pleasure of your pains,
I will no further chide you.
I could not stay behind you: my desire,
More sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth;
And not all love to see you,--though so much,
As might have drawn one to a longer voyage,--
But jealousy 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.
My kind Antonio,
I can no other answer make but thanks,
And thanks, and ever thanks. Often good turns
Are shuffled off with such uncurrent pay;
But were my worth, as is my conscience, firm,
You should find better dealing. What's to do?
Shall we go see the reliques of this town?
To-morrow, sir; best, first, go see your lodging.
I am not weary, and 'tis long to night;
I pray you, let us satisfy our eyes
With the memorials and the things of fame
That do renown this city.
Would you'd pardon me;
I do not without danger walk these streets:
Once in a sea-fight, 'gainst the count, his galleys,
I did some service; of such note, indeed,
That, were I ta'en here, it would scarce be answered.
Belike you slew great number of his people.
The 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 answered in repaying
What we took from them; which, for traffic's sake,
Most of our city did: only myself stood out;
For which, if I be lapsed in this place,
I shall pay dear.
Do not then walk too open.