BOSOLA. Poison'd! a Spanish fig
For the imputation!

ANTONIO. Traitors are ever confident
Till they are discover'd. 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