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Actus Tertius

Enter Cleon, Strato, Diphilus.

Cle. Your sister is not up yet.

Diph. Oh, Brides must take their mornings rest, The night is troublesome.

Stra. But not tedious.

Diph. What odds, he has not my Sisters maiden-head to
                 night?

Stra. No, it's odds against any Bridegroom living, he
                 ne're gets it while he lives.

Diph. Y'are merry with my Sister, you'l please to allow
                 me the same freedom with your Mother.

Stra. She's at your service.

Diph. Then she's merry enough of her self, she needs no tickling; knock at the door.

Stra. We shall interrupt them.

Diph. No matter, they have the year before them. Good morrow Sister; spare your self to day, the night will come again.

[Enter Amintor.

Amint. Who's there, my Brother? I am no readier yet,
                 your Sister is but now up.

Diph. You look as you had lost your eyes to night; I
                 think you ha' not slept.

Amint. I faith I have not.

Diph. You have done better then.

Amint. We ventured for a Boy; when he is Twelve,
                 He shall command against the foes of Rhodes.

Stra. You cannot, you want sleep.
                                                              [Aside.

Amint. 'Tis true; but she
                 As if she had drunk Lethe, or had made
                 Even with Heaven, did fetch so still a sleep,
                 So sweet and sound.

Diph. What's that?

Amint. Your Sister frets this morning, and does turn her eyes upon me, as people on their headsman; she does chafe, and kiss, and chafe again, and clap my cheeks; she's in another world.

Diph. Then I had lost; I was about to lay, you had not
got her Maiden-head to night.

Amint. Ha! he does not mock me; y'ad lost indeed;
I do not use to bungle.

Cleo. You do deserve her.

Amint. I laid my lips to hers, and [t]hat wild breath That was rude and rough to me, last night

[_Aside.

Was sweet as April; I'le be guilty too,
If these be the effects.

[Enter Melantius.

Mel. Good day Amintor, for to me the name Of Brother is too distant; we are friends, And that is nearer.

Amint. Dear Melantius! Let me behold thee; is it possible?

Mel. What sudden gaze is this?

Amint. 'Tis wonderous strange.
Mel. Why does thine eye desire so strict a view
                 Of that it knows so well?
                 There's nothing here that is not thine.
Amint. I wonder much Melantius,
                 To see those noble looks that make me think
                 How vertuous thou art; and on the sudden
                 'Tis strange to me, thou shouldst have worth and honour,
                 Or not be base, and false, and treacherous,
                 And every ill. But—
Mel. Stay, stay my Friend,
                 I fear this sound will not become our loves; no more,
                 embrace me.

Amint. Oh mistake me not;
                 I know thee to be full of all those deeds
                 That we frail men call good: but by the course
                 Of nature thou shouldst be as quickly chang'd
                 As are the winds, dissembling as the Sea,
                 That now wears brows as smooth as Virgins be,
                 Tempting the Merchant to invade his face,
                 And in an hour calls his billows up,
                 And shoots 'em at the Sun, destroying all
                 He carries on him. O how near am I

[Aside.

To utter my sick thoughts!

Mel. But why, my Friend, should I be so by Nature?

Amin. I have wed thy Sister, who hath vertuous thoughts Enough for one whole family, and it is strange That you should feel no want.

Mel. Believe me, this complement's too cunning for me.

Diph. What should I be then by the course of nature, They having both robb'd me of so much vertue?

Strat. O call the Bride, my Lord Amintor, that we may see her blush, and turn her eyes down; it is the prettiest sport.

Amin. Evadne!

Evad. My Lord! [Within.

Amint. Come forth my Love,
Your Brothers do attend to wish you joy.

Evad. I am not ready yet.

Amint. Enough, enough.

Evad. They'l mock me.

Amint. Faith thou shalt come in.

[Enter Evadne.

Mel. Good morrow Sister; he that understands Whom you have wed, need not to wish you joy. You have enough, take heed you be not proud.

Diph. O Sister, what have you done!

Evad. I done! why, what have I done?

Strat. My Lord Amintor swears you are no Maid now.

Evad. Push!

Strat. I faith he does.

Evad. I knew I should be mockt.

Diph. With a truth.

Evad. If 'twere to do again, in faith I would not marry.

Amint. Not I by Heaven. [Aside.

Diph. Sister, Dula swears she heard you cry two rooms off.

Evad. Fie how you talk!

Diph. Let's see you walk.

Evad. By my troth y'are spoil'd.

Mel. Amintor!

Amint. Ha!

Mel. Thou art sad.

Amint. Who I? I thank you for that, shall Diphilus, thou and I sing a catch?

Mel. How!

Amint. Prethee let's.

Mel. Nay, that's too much the other way.

Amint. I am so lightned with my happiness: how dost thou Love? kiss me.

Evad. I cannot love you, you tell tales of me.

Amint. Nothing but what becomes us: Gentlemen,
                 Would you had all such Wives, and all the world,
                 That I might be no wonder; y'are all sad;
                 What, do you envie me? I walk methinks
                 On water, and ne're sink, I am so light.

Mel. 'Tis well you are so.

Amint. Well? how can I be other, when she looks thus? Is there no musick there? let's dance.

Mel. Why? this is strange, Amintor!

Amint. I do not know my self; Yet I could wish my joy were less.

Diph. I'le marry too, if it will make one thus.

Evad. Amintor, hark. [Aside.

Amint. What says my Love? I must obey.

Evad. You do it scurvily, 'twill be perceiv'd.

Cle. My Lord the King is here.

[Enter King and Lysi.

Amint. Where?

Stra. And his Brother.

King. Good morrow all. Amintor, joy on, joy fall thick upon thee! And Madam, you are alter'd since I saw you, I must salute you; you are now anothers; How lik't you your nights rest?

Evad. Ill Sir.

Amint. I! 'deed she took but little.

Lys. You'l let her take more, and thank her too shortly.

King. Amintor, wert thou truly honest Till thou wert Married?

Amint. Yes Sir.

King. Tell me then, how shews the sport unto thee?

Amint. Why well.

King. What did you do?

Amint. No more nor less than other couples use; You know what 'tis; it has but a course name.

King. But prethee, I should think by her black eye, And her red cheek, she should be quick and stirring In this same business, ha?

Amint. I cannot tell, I ne're try'd other Sir, but I perceive
                 She is as quick as you delivered.

King. Well, you'l trust me then Amintor,
                 To choose a Wife for you agen?

Amint. No never Sir.

King. Why? like you this so ill?

Amint. So well I like her.
                 For this I bow my knee in thanks to you,
                 And unto Heaven will pay my grateful tribute
                 Hourly, and to hope we shall draw out
                 A long contented life together here,
                 And die both full of gray hairs in one day;
                 For which the thanks is yours; but if the powers
                 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.
                 Amint. He will not tell me that he lies with her: if
                 he do,
                 Something Heavenly stay my heart, for I shall be apt
                 To thrust this arm of mine to acts unlawful.

King. You will suffer me to talk with her Amintor,
                 And not have a jealous pang!

Amint. Sir, I dare trust my Wife
                 With whom she dares to talk, and not be jealous.

King. How do you like Amintor?

Evad. As I did Sir.

King. How's that!

Evad. As one that to fulfil your will and pleasure, 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 Heaven, will break again With all the World, and so dost thou with me.

Evad. How Sir?

King. This subtile Womans ignorance
                 Will not excuse you; thou hast taken Oaths
                 So great, methought they did not well become
                 A Womans mouth, that thou wouldst ne're 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 mine eyes; but if I ever yet
                 Toucht any other, Leprosie light here
                 Upon my face, which for your Royalty I would not stain.

King. Why thou dissemblest, and it is in me to punish thee.

Evad. Why, it is in me then not to love you, which will More afflict your body, than your punishment can mine.

King. But thou hast let Amintor lie with thee.

Evad. I ha'not.

King. Impudence! he saies himself so.

Evad. He lyes.

King. He does not.

Evad. By this light he does, strangely and basely, and I'le prove it so; I did not shun him for a night, But told him I would never close with him.

King. Speak lower, 'tis false.

Evad. I'm no man to answer with a blow; Or if I were, you are the King; but urge me not, 'tis most true.

King. Do not I know the uncontrouled thoughts
                 That youth brings with him, when his bloud is high
                 With expectation and desires 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 ruine thee for ever? if he had not kill'd thee,
                 He could not bear it thus; he is as we,
                 Or any other wrong'd man.

Evad. It is dissembling.

King. Take him; farewel; henceforth I am thy foe; And what disgraces I can blot thee, look for.

Evad. Stay Sir; Amintor, you shall hear, Amintor.

Amint. What my Love?

Evad. Amintor, thou hast an ingenious look, And shouldst be vertuous; it amazeth me, That thou canst make such base malicious lyes.

Amint. What my dear Wife?

Evad. Dear Wife! I do despise thee; Why, nothing can be baser, than to sow Dissention amongst Lovers.

Amint. Lovers! who?

Evad. The King and me.

Amint. O Heaven!

Evad. Who should live long, and love without distaste,
                 Were it not for such pickthanks as thy self!
                 Did you lie with me? swear now, and be punisht in hell
                 For this.

Amint. The faithless Sin I made
                 To fair Aspatia, is not yet reveng'd,
                 It follows me; I will not lose a word
                 To this wild Woman; but to you my King,
                 The anguish of my soul thrusts out this truth,
                 Y'are a Tyrant; and not so much to wrong
                 An honest man thus, as to take a pride
                 In talking with him of it.

Evad. Now Sir, see how loud this fellow lyed.

Amint. 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!
                 It is not death; nor can that satisfie,
                 Unless I send your lives through all the Land,
                 To shew how nobly I have freed my self.

King. Draw not thy Sword, thou knowest I cannot fear
                 A subjects hand; but thou shalt feel the weight of this
                 If thou dost rage.

Amint. The weight of that?
                 If you have any worth, for Heavens sake think
                 I fear not Swords; for as you are meer 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 murther 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 choose out me
                 To make thus wretched? there were thousand fools
                 Easie to work on, and of state enough within the Island.

Evad. I would not have a fool, it were no credit for me.

Amint. Worse and worse!
                 Thou that dar'st talk unto thy Husband thus,
                 Profess thy self 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'ne
                 another.

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

Amint. 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.

Amint. A Baud! hold my breast, a bitter 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 lay not with her,
                 And so leave you.

[Exit King.

Evad. You must be prating, and see what follows.

Amint. Prethee vex me not. Leave me, I am afraid some sudden start Will pull a murther on me.

Evad. I am gone; I love my life well.

[Exit Evadne.

Amint. I hate mine as much.
This 'tis to break a troth; I should be glad
If all this tide of grief would make me mad.

[Exit.
Enter Melantius.

Mel. I'le know the cause of all Amintors griefs, Or friendship shall be idle.

[Enter Calianax.

Cal. O Melantius, my Daughter will die.

Mel. Trust me, I am sorry; would thou hadst ta'ne her room.

Cal. Thou art a slave, a cut-throat slave, a bloody treacherous slave.

Melan. 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'le spoil your mirth, I mean to fight with thee;
                 There lie my Cloak, this was my Fathers Sword,
                 And he durst fight; are you prepar'd?

Mel. Why? wilt thou doat thy self 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, when you stand safe
                 Amongst a multitude; but I will try
                 What you dare do unto a weak old man
                 In single fight; you'l ground I fear: Come draw.

Mel. I will not draw, unless thou pul'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 testie 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, I would beat him, till he ask me mercy.

Mel. Sir, will you be gone?

Cal. I dare not stay, but I will go home, and beat my servants all over for this.

[Exit Calianax.

Mel. This old fellow haunts me,
                 But the distracted carriage of mine Amintor
                 Takes deeply on me, I will find the cause;
                 I fear his Conscience cries, he wrong'd Aspatia.

Enter Amintor.

Amint. Mens eyes are not so subtil to perceive
                 My inward misery; I bear my grief
                 Hid from the World; how art thou wretched then?
                 For ought I know, all Husbands are like me;
                 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 charge our souls in talk.

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

Mel. How wast?

Amint. 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.

Amint. 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 dispos'd: 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're with smiles, and 'twill not be. What is it?

Amint. 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 received
                 A Lady to my bed, that in her eye
                 Keeps mounting fire, and on her tender cheeks
                 Inevitable colour, in her heart
                 A prison for all vertue? are not you,
                 Which is above all joyes, 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 unexprest a joy
                 In chast embraces, that you will indeed appear another.

Mel. You may shape, Amintor,
                 Causes to cozen the whole world withal,
                 And your self 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 here? a friend
                 Is nothing, Heaven! I would ha' told that man
                 My secret sins; I'le search an unknown Land,
                 And there plant friendship, all is withered here;
                 Come with a complement, I would have fought,
                 Or told my friend he ly'd, ere sooth'd him so;
                 Out of my bosom.

Amint. But there is nothing.

Mel. Worse and worse; farewel; From this time have acquaintance, but no friend.

Amint. Melantius, stay, you shall know what that is.

Mel. See how you play'd with friendship; be advis'd How you give cause unto your self to say, You ha'lost a friend.

Amint. Forgive what I have done;
                 For I am so ore-gone with injuries
                 Unheard of, that I lose consideration
                 Of what I ought to do—oh—oh.

Mel. Do not weep; what is't?
                 May I once but know the man
                 Hath turn'd my friend thus?

Amint. I had spoke at first, but that.

Mel. But what?

Amint. 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 own armour I'le adorn my self,
                 My resolution, and cut through thy foes,
                 Unto thy quiet, till I place thy heart
                 As peaceable as spotless innocence. What is it?

Amint. Why, 'tis this—it is too big
                 To get out, let my tears make way a while.

Mel. Punish me strangely heaven, if he escape
                 Of life or fame, that brought this youth to this.

Amint. Your Sister.

Mel. Well said.

Amint. You'l wish't unknown, when you have heard it.

Mel. No.

Amint. Is much to blame,
                 And to the King has given her honour up,
                 And lives in Whoredom with him.

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

Amint. 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?

Amint. By all our friendship, these.

Mel. What? am I tame?
                 After mine actions, shall the name of friend
                 Blot all our family, and strike 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 Rayler, 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.

Amint. 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 lyes,
                 Provide not blows, but words to qualifie
                 The men they wrong'd; thou hast a guilty cause.

Amint. Thou pleasest me; for so much more like this,
                 Will raise my anger up above my griefs,
                 Which is a passion easier to be born,
                 And I shall then be happy.

Mel. Take then more to raise thine anger. 'Tis meer
                 Cowardize makes thee not draw; and I will leave thee
                 dead
                 However; but if thou art so much prest
                 With guilt and fear, as not to dare to fight,
                 I'le make thy memory loath'd, and fix a scandal
                 Upon thy name for ever.

Amint. Then I draw,
                 As justly as our Magistrates their Swords,
                 To cut offenders off; I knew before
                 'Twould grate your ears; but it was base in you
                 To urge a weighty secret from your friend,
                 And then rage at it; I shall be at ease
                 If I be kill'd; and if you fall by me,
                 I shall not long out-live you.

Mel. Stay a while.
                 The name of friend is more than family,
                 Or all the world besides; I was a fool.
                 Thou searching humane nature, that didst wake
                 To do me wrong, thou art inquisitive,
                 And thrusts 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.

Amint. 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 action my self
                 Through these disgraces.

Mel. Better half the Land
                 Were buried quick together; no, Amintor,
                 Thou shalt have ease: O this Adulterous King
                 That drew her to't! where got he the spirit
                 To wrong me so?

Amint. 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'le waken death,
                 And hurle him on this King; my honesty
                 Shall steel my sword, and on its horrid point
                 I'le wear my cause, that shall amaze the eyes
                 Of this proud man, and be too glittering
                 For him to look on.

Amint. I have quite undone my fame.

Mel. Dry up thy watry 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 my heart at peace.

Amint. It must not be so; stay, mine eyes would tell
                 How loth I am to this; but love and tears
                 Leave me a while, for I have hazarded
                 All this world calls happy; thou hast wrought
                 A secret from me under name of Friend,
                 Which Art could ne're have found, nor torture wrung
                 From out my bosom; give it me agen,
                 For I will find it, wheresoe're 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.

Amint. 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.

Amint. I will not hear: but draw, or I–

Mel. Amintor.

Amint. Draw then, for I am full as resolute As fame and honour can inforce me be; I cannot linger, draw.

Mel. I do—but is not
                 My share of credit equal with thine if I do stir?

Amint. No; for it will be cal'd
                 Honour in thee to spill thy Sisters blood,
                 If she her birth abuse, and on the King
                 A brave revenge: but on me that have walkt
                 With patience in it, it will fix the name
                 Of fearful Cuckold—O that word! be quick.

Mel. Then joyn with me.

Amint. 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 agen,
                 And to thy self pronounce the name of friend,
                 And see what that will work; I will not fight.

Amint. You must.

Mel. I will be kill'd first, though my passions
                 Offred the like to you; 'tis not this earth
                 Shall buy my reason to it; think a while,
                 For you are (I must weep when I speak that)
                 Almost besides your self.

Amint. Oh my soft temper!
                 So many sweet words from thy Sisters 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 doest.

Mel. Why thinks my friend I will forget his honour, or to save
                 The bravery of our house, will lose his fame,
                 And fear to touch the Throne of Majesty?

Amint. A curse will follow that, but rather live
                 And suffer with me.

Mel. I will do what worth shall bid me, and no more.

Amint. Faith I am sick, and desperately I hope, Yet leaning thus, I feel a kind of ease.

Mel. Come take agen your mirth about you.

Amint. I shall never do't.

Mel. I warrant you, look up, wee'l walk together,
Put thine arm here, all shall be well agen.

Amint. Thy Love, O wretched, I thy Love, Melantius;
why, I have nothing else.

Mel. Be merry then.

[Exeunt. Enter Melantius agen.

Mel. This worthy young man may do violence
                 Upon himself, but I have cherisht him
                 To my best power, and sent him smiling from me
                 To counterfeit again; Sword hold thine edge,
                 My heart will never fail me: Diphilus,
                 Thou com'st as sent.

[Enter Diphilus.

Diph. Yonder has been such laughing.

Mel. Betwixt whom?

Diph. Why, our Sister and the King, I thought their spleens would break, They laught 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 my self and find it.

Mel. That was spoke according to our strain; come
                 Joyn 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 past
                 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'le tell you wonders; we are wrong'd.

Diph. But I will tell you now, wee'l 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 my self 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

[Enter Calianax.

                 Where he comes shaking by me: good my Lord,
                 Forget your spleen to me, I never wrong'd you,
                 But would have peace with every man.

Cal. 'Tis well;
                 If I durst fight, your tongue would lie at quiet.

Mel. Y'are touchie without all cause.

Cal. Do, mock me.

Mel. By mine honour I speak truth.

Cal. Honour? where is't?