_: well met,
Your causless hate to me I hope is buried.

_Cal_. Yes, I do service for your Sister here,
That brings my own poor Child to timeless death;
She loves your friend _Amintor_, such another
false-hearted Lord as you.

_Mel_. You do me wrong,
A most unmanly one, and I am slow
In taking vengeance, but be well advis'd.

_Cal_. It may be so: who placed the Lady there so near
the presence of the King?

_Mel_. I did.

_Cal_. My Lord she must not sit there.

_Mel_. Why?

_Cal_. The place is kept for women of more worth.
_Mel_. More worth than she? it mis-becomes your Age
And place to be thus womanish; forbear;
What you have spoke, I am content to think
The Palsey shook your tongue to.

_Cal_. Why 'tis well if I stand here to place mens wenches.

_Mel_. I shall forget this place, thy Age, my safety, and
through all, cut that poor sickly week thou hast to
live, away from thee.

_Cal_. Nay, I know you can fight for your Whore.

_Mel_. Bate the King, and be he flesh and blood,
He lyes that saies it, thy mother at fifteen
Was black and sinful to her.

_Diag_. Good my Lord!

_Mel_. Some god pluck threescore years from that fond man,
That I may kill him, and not stain mine honour;
It is the curse of Souldiers, that in peace
They shall be brain'd by such ignoble men,
As (if the Land were troubled) would with tears
And knees beg succour from 'em: would that blood
(That sea of blood) that I have lost in fight,
Were running in thy veins, that it might make thee
Apt to say less, or able to maintain,
Shouldst thou say more,--This _Rhodes_ I see is nought
But a place priviledg'd to do men wrong.

_Cal_. I, you may say your pleasure.

[_Enter Amintor_.

_Amint_. What vilde injury
Has stirr'd my worthy friend, who is as slow
To fight with words, as he is quick of hand?

_Mel_. That heap of age which I should reverence