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Amin. Who, I? I thank you for that. Diphilus, thou, and I, sing a catch? Mel. How!

Amin. Prithee, let's.

King. But, prithee, I should think, by her black eye,

And her red cheek, she should be quick and stirring

In this same business; ha?

Amin. I cannot tell; I ne'er try'd other, sir; But I perceive she is as quick as you deliver'd. King. Well, you will trust me then, Amintor, To chuse a wife for you again?

Amin. No, never, sir.

King. Why? like you this so ill?
Amin. So well I like her,

For this I bow my knee in thanks to you,
And unto Heav'n will pay my grateful tribute
Hourly; and do hope we shall draw out
Shall A long contented life together here,

Mel. Nay, that's too much the other way. Amin. I am so light'ned with my happiness! How dost thou, love? kiss me.

Evad. I cannot love you, you tell tales of me. Amin. Nothing but what become us. Gentlemen,

Would you had all such wives, and all the world,
That I might be no wonder! You're all sad:
What, do you envy me? I walk, methinks,
On water, and ne'er sink, I am so light.
Mel. 'Tis well you are so.

And die both, full of grey hairs, in one day: For which the thanks are yours. But if the pow'rs,

That rule us, please to call her first away, Without pride spoke, this world holds not a wife, Worthy to take her room.

King. I do not like this.-

All forbear the room, but you, Amintor,
And your lady. I have some speech with you,
That may concern your after living well.

[Exeunt all but KING. EVAD. and AMIN.
Amin. He will not tell me, that he lies with her?
If he do, something heav'nly stay my heart,
For I shall be apt to thrust this arm of mine

Amin. Well? how can I be other, when she To acts unlawful!

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King. You will suffer me to talk

With her, Amintor, and not have a jealous pang? Amin. Sir, I dare trust my wife with whom she dares

To talk, and not be jealous.

King. How do you like

Amintor?

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sure,

I have given leave to call me wife and love. King. I see there is no lasting faith in sin; They, that break word with Heav'n, will break again.

With all the world, and so dost thou with me. Evad. How, sir?

King. This subtle woman's ignorance
Will not excuse you: thou hast taken oaths,
So great, methought, they did not well become
A woman's mouth, that thou would'st ne'er enjoy
A man but me.

Evad. I never did swear so; you do me wrong.
King. Day and night have heard it.

Evad. I swore, indeed, that I would never love
A man of lower place; but, if your fortune
Should throw you from this height, I bade you trust
I would forsake you, and would bend to him,
That won your throne: I love with my ambition,
Not with my eyes. But, if I ever yet
Touch'd any other, leprosy light here
Upon my face; which for your royalty
I would not stain!

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King. Do not I know the uncontrouled thoughts,

That youth brings with him, when his blood is high

With expectation, and desire of that
He long hath waited for? Is not his spirit,
Though he be temperate, of a valiant strain
As this our age hath known? What could he do,
If such a sudden speech had met his blood,
But ruin thee for ever? If he had not killed thee,
He could not bear it thus. He is as we,
Or any other wrong'd man.

Evad. It is dissembling.

King. Take him! farewell; henceforth I am thy foe;

And what disgraces I can blot thee, look for. Evad. Stay, sir!-Amintor!-You shall hear. Amintor!

Amin. What, my love?

Evad. Amintor, thou hast an ingenuous look, And should'st be virtuous: It amazeth me, That thou canst make such base malicious lies! Amin. What, my dear wife?

Evad. Dear wife! I do despise thee.
Why, nothing can be baser than to sow
Dissention amongst lovers.

Amin. Lovers! who?
Evad. The king and me.
Amin. O, Heav'n!

Exad. Who should live long, and love without distaste,

Were it not for such pickthanks as thyself!
Did you lie with me? Swear now, and be pu-

nish'd

In hell for this!

Amin. The faithless sin I made To fair Aspatia, is not yet reveng'd; It follows me. I will not lose a word To this vile woman: But to you, my king, The anguish of my soul thrusts out this truth, You are a tyrant!

And not so much to wrong an honest man thus, As to take a pride in talking with him of it.

Erud. Now, sir, see how loud this fellow lied.

Amin. You, that can know to wrong, should
know how men

Must right themselves: What punishment is due
From me to him, that shall abuse my bed?
Is it not death? Nor can that satisfy,
Unless I send your lives through all the land,
To shew how nobly I have freed myself.

King. Draw not thy sword; thou know'st I
cannot fear

A subject's hand; but thou shalt feel the weight Of this, if thou dost rage.

Amin. The weight of that!

If you have any worth, for heaven's sake, think
I fear not swords; for as you are mere man,
I dare as easily kill you for this deed,
As you dare think to do it. But there is
Divinity about you, that strikes dead
My rising passions: As you are my king,
I fall before you, and present my sword
To cut mine own flesh, if it be your will.
Alas! I am nothing but a multitude
Of walking griefs! Yet, should I murder you,
I might before the world take the excuse
Of madness: For, compare my injuries,
And they will well appear too sad a weight
For reason to endure! But, fall I first
Amongst my sorrows, ere my treacherous hand
Touch holy things! But why (I know not what
I have to say) why did you chuse out me
To make thus wretched? There were thousand
fools

Easy to work on, and of state enough,
Within the island.

Evad. I would not have a fool;

It were no credit for me.

Amin. Worse and worse!

Thou, that dar'st talk unto thy husband thus,
Profess thyself a whore, and, more than so,
Resolve to be so still- -It is my fate
To bear and bow beneath a thousand griefs,
To keep that little credit with the world!
But there were wise ones too; you might have
ta'en

Another.

King. No; for I believe thee honest, As thou wert valiant.

Amin. All the happiness,

Bestow'd upon me, turns into disgrace.
Gods, take your honesty again, for I
Am loaden with it! Good my lord the king,
Be private in it.

king. Thou may'st live, Amintor,
Free as thy king, if thou wilt wink at this,
And be a means, that we may meet in secret.
Amin. A bawd! Hold, hold, my breast! A bit-

ter curse

Seize me, if I forget not all respects,
That are religious, on another word
Sounded like that; and, through a sea of sins,
Will wade to my revenge, though I should call
Pains here, and after life, upon my soul!

King. Well, I am resolute you lie not with her;
And so I leave you.
[Exit Kings
Evad. You must needs be prating;
And see what follows.

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Mel. I'll know the cause of all Amintor's griefs, For aught I know, all husbands are like me; Or friendship shall be idle.

Enter CALIANAX.

Cal. O Melantius, my daughter will die.
Mel. Trust me, I am sorry.

'Would thou hadst ta'en her room!
Cal. Thou art a slave,

A cut-throat slave, a bloody treacherous slave! Mel. Take heed, old man ; thou wilt be heard to rave,

And lose thine offices.

Cal. I am valiant grown,

At all these years, and thou art but a slave! Mel. Leave! Some company will come, and I respect

Thy years, not thee, so much, that I could wish To laugh at thee alone.

Cal. I'll spoil your mirth: I mean to fight with thee.

There lie, my cloak! This was my father's sword, And he durst fight. Are you prepared?

Mel. Why wilt thou doat thyself out of thy life? Hence, get thee to bed! have careful looking to, And eat warm things, and trouble not me: My head is full of thoughts, more weighty Than thy life or death can be.

Cal. You have a name in war, where you stand safe

Amongst a multitude; but I will try
What you dare do unto a weak old man,
In single fight. You will give ground, I fear.
Come, draw.

Mel. I will not draw, unless thou pull'st thy

death

Upon thee with a stroke. There's no one blow, That thou canst give, hath strength enough to kill

me.

Tempt me not so far then: The power of earth Shall not redeem thee.

Cal. I must let him alone;

He's stout and able; and, to say the truth,
However I may set a face, and talk,
I am not valiant. When I was a youth,
I kept my credit with a testy trick I had,
Amongst cowards, but durst never fight.
Mel. I will not promise to preserve your life,
If you do stay.

Cal. I would give half my land,
That I durst fight with that proud man a little.
If I had men to hold him, I would beat him,
Till he asked me mercy.

Mel. Sir, will you be gone?

Cal. I dare not stay; but I'll go home and beat

And every one, I talk with of his wife,
Is but a well dissembler of his woes,
As I am.
'Would I knew it; for the rareness
Afflicts me now.

Mel. Amintor, we have not enjoy'd our friendship of late, for we were wont to change our souls in talk.

Amin. Melantius, I can tell thee a good jest of Strato and a lady the last day.

Mel. How was't?

Amin. Why, such an odd one!

Mel. I have long'd to speak with you; not of an idle jest, that's forc'd, but of matter you are bound to utter to me.

Amin. What is that, my friend?

Mel. I have observ'd your words Fall from your tongue wildly; and all your carriage Like one that strove to shew his merry mood, When he were ill disposed: You were not wont To put such scorn into your speech, or wear Upon your face ridiculous jollity. Some sadness sits here, which your cunning would Cover o'er with smiles, and 'twill not be. What is it?

Amin. A sadness here! what cause
Can fate provide for me, to make me so?
Am I not lov'd through all this isle? The king
Rains greatness on me. Have I not receiv'd
A lady to my bed, that in her eye
Keeps mounting fire, and on her tender cheeks
Immutable colour, in her heart

A prison for all virtue? Are not you,
Which is above all joys, my constant friend?
What sadness can I have? No; I am light,
And feel the courses of my blood more warm
And stirring than they were. Faith, marry too;
And you will feel so unexpress'd a joy
In chaste embraces, that you will indeed
Appear another.

Mel. You may shape, Amintor,
Causes to cozen the whole world withal,
And yourself too; but 'tis not like a friend,
To hide your soul from me. 'Tis not your nature
To be thus idle: I have seen you stand,
As you were blasted, 'midst of all your mirth;
Call thrice aloud, and then start, feigning joy
So coldly!--World, what do I hear? a friend
Is nothing. Heav'n, I would have told that man
My secret sins! I'll search an unknown land,
And there plant friendship; all is wither'd here.
Come with a compliment! I would have fought,
Or told my friend' he lied,' ere sooth'd him so.
Out of my bosom !

Amin. But there is nothing

Mel. Worse and worse! farewell!
From this time have acquaintance, but no friend.
Amin. Melantius, stay: You shall know what it is.
Mel. See, how you play'd with friendship!
Be advised

How you give cause unto yourself to say,
You have lost a friend.

Amin. Forgive what I have done;
For I am so o'ergone with injuries
Unheard of, that I lose consideration
Of what I ought to do. Oh, oh!

Mel. Do not weep.

What is it? May I once but know the man Hath turned my friend thus !

Amin. I had spoke at first,

But that

Mel. But what?

Amin. I held it most unfit

For you to know. Faith, do not know it yet.
Mel. Thou seest my love, that will keep company
With thee in tears; hide nothing then from me;
For, when I know the cause of thy distemper,
With mine old armour I'll adorn myself,
My resolution, and cut through thy foes,
Unto thy quiet; till I place thy heart
As peaceable, as spotless innocence.
What is it?

Amin. Why, 'tis this-It is too big
To get out-Let my tears make way awhile.
Mel. Punish me strangely, Heav'n, if he escape
Of life or fame, that brought this youth to this!
Amin. Your sister-

Mel. Well said.

Amin. You will wish't unknown,

When you have heard it.

Mel. No.

Amin. Is much to blame,

And to the king has given her honour up, And lives in whoredom with him.

Mel. How is this?

Thou art run mad with injury, indeed;
Thou couldst not utter this else. Speak again;
For I forgive it freely; tell thy griefs.

Amin. She's wanton: I am loth to say, 'a whore,' Though it be true.

Mel. Speak yet again, before mine anger grow
Up, beyond throwing down: What are thy griefs?
Amin. By all our friendship, these.
Mel. What, am I tame?

After mine actions, shall the name of Friend
Blot all our family, and stick the brand
Of whore upon my sister, unreveng'd?
My shaking flesh, be thou a witness for me,
With what unwillingness I go to scourge
This railer, whom my folly hath call'd Friend!
I will not take thee basely; thy sword
Hangs near thy hand; draw it, that I may whip
Thy rashness to repentance. Draw thy sword!
Amin. Not on thee, did thine anger swell as high
As the wild surges. Thou shouldst do me ease
Here, and eternally, if thy noble hand
Would cut me from my sorrows.

Mel. This is base

And fearful. They, that use to utter lies,

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The name of Friend is more than family,
Or all the world besides: I was a fool!
Thou searching human nature, that didst wake
To do me wrong, thou art inquisitive,
And thrust'st me upon questions, that will take
My sleep away! 'Would I had died, ere known
This sad dishonour! Pardon me, my friend!
If thou wilt strike, here is a faithful heart;
Pierce it, for I will never heave my hand
To thine. Behold the power thou hast in me!
I do believe my sister is a whore,

A leprous one! Put up thy sword, young man.

Amin. How should I bear it then, she being so? I fear, my friend, that you will lose me shortly; And I shall do a foul act on myself, Through these disgraces.

Mel. Better half the land

Were buried quick together. No, Amintor; Thou shalt have ease. Oh, this adult'rous king, That drew her to it! Where got he the spirit To wrong me so?

Amin. What is it then to me, If it be wrong to you?

Mel. Why, not so much :

The credit of our house is thrown away.
But from his iron den I'll waken Death,
And hurl him on this king! My honesty
Shall steel my sword; and on its horrid point
I'll wear my cause, that shall amaze the eyes
Of this proud man, and be too glittering
For him to look on.

Amin. I have quite undone my fame.
Mel. Dry up thy watery eyes,

And cast a manly look upon my face;
For nothing is so wild as I, thy friend,
Till I have freed thee. Still this swelling breast!
I go thus from thee, and will never cease
My vengeance, till I find thy heart at peace.

Amin. It must not be so. Stay! Mine eyes would tell

How loth I am to this; but, love and tears,

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Leave me awhile; for I have hazarded All that this world calls happy. Thou hast wrought

A secret from me, under name of Friend,

Which art could ne'er have found, nor torture

wrung

From out my bosom: Give it me again;
For I will find it, wheresoe'er it lies,
Hid in the mortal'st part! Invent a way
To give it back.

Mel. Why would you have it back?

I will to death pursue him with revenge.

Amin. Therefore I call it back from thee; for I know

Thy blood so high, that thou wilt stir in this,
And shame me to posterity. Take to thy weapon!
Mel. Hear thy friend, that bears more years
than thou.

Amin. I will not hear! but draw, or I—
Mel. Amintor!

Amin. Draw then; for I am full as resolute

As fame and honour can enforce me be !

I cannot linger. Draw!

Mel. I do. But is not

My share of credit equal with thine,
If I do stir?

Amin. No; for it will be call'd

Honour in thee to spill thy sister's blood,
If she her birth abuse; and, on the king,

A brave revenge: But on me, that have walk'd
With patience in it, it will fix the name

Of fearful cuckold. Oh, that word! Be quick. Mel. Then join with me.

Amin. I dare not do a sin, or else I would. Be speedy.

Mel. Then dare not fight with me; for that's a

sin.

His grief distracts him: Call thy thoughts again, And to thyself pronounce the name of Friend, And see what that will work. I will not fight Amin. You must.

Mel. I will be kill'd first. Though my pas

sions

Offer'd the like to you, 'tis not this earth
Shall buy my reason to it. Think awhile,
For you are (I must weep, when I speak that)
Almost besides yourself.

Amin. Oh, my soft temper!

So many sweet words from thy sister's mouth,
I am afraid, would make me take her

To embrace, and pardon her. I am mad, indeed,
And know not what I do. Yet, have a care
Of me in what thou dost.

Mel. Why, thinks my friend

I will forget his honour? or, to save
The brav'ry of our house, will lose his fame,
And fear to touch the throne of majesty?
Amin. A curse will follow that; but rather live,
And suffer with me.

Mel. I'll do what worth shall bid me, and no

more.

Amin. 'Faith, I am sick, and desp'rately, I hope; Yet, leaning thus, I feel a kind of ease.

Mel. Come, take again your mirth about you. Amin. I shall never do't.

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Diph. Yonder has been such laughing.
Mel. Betwixt whom?

Diph. Why, our sister and the king; I thought their spleens would break; they laugh'd us all out of the room.

Mel. They must weep, Diphilus.

Diph. Must they?

Mel. They must.

Thou art my brother; and if I did believe Thou hadst a base thought, I would rip it out, Lie where it durst.

Diph. You should not; I would first mangle myself, and find it.

Mel. That was spoke according to our strain. Come, join thy hands to mine,

And swear a firmness to what project I
Shall lay before thee.

Diph. You do wrong us both:
People hereafter shall not say, there passed
A bond, more than our loves, to tie our lives
And deaths together.

Mel. It is as nobly said as I would wish.
Anon I'll tell you wonders. We are wrong'd.
Diph. But I will tell you now, we'll right our-

selves.

Mel. Stay not: Prepare the armour in my
house;

And what friends you can draw unto our side,
Not knowing of the cause, make ready too.
Haste, Diphilus, the time requires it; haste!
[Exit DIPHILUS.
I hope my cause is just; I know my blood
Tells me it is; and I will credit it.
To take revenge, and lose myself withal,
Were idle; and to 'scape impossible,
Without I had the fort, which (misery!)
Remaining in the hands of my old enemy
Calianax-But I must have it. See,

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