ll of flowers, she with a sigh will tell
Her servants what a pretty place it were
To bury lovers in, and make her maids
Pluck'em, and strow her over like a Corse.
She carries with her an infectious grief
That strikes all her beholders, she will sing
The mournful'st things that ever ear hath heard,
And sigh, and sing again, and when the rest
Of our young Ladies in their wanton blood,
Tell mirthful tales in course that fill the room
With laughter, she will with so sad a look
Bring forth a story of the silent death
Of some forsaken Virgin, which her grief
Will put in such a phrase, that ere she end,
She'l send them weeping one by one away.

_Mel_. She has a brother under my command
Like her, a face as womanish as hers,
But with a spirit that hath much out-grown
The number of his years.

[_Enter Amintor_.

_Cle_. My Lord the Bridegroom!

_Mel_. I might run fiercely, not more hastily
Upon my foe: I love thee well _Amintor_,
My mouth is much too narrow for my heart;
I joy to look upon those eyes of thine;
Thou art my friend, but my disorder'd speech cuts off
my love.

_Amin_. Thou art _Melantius_;
All love is spoke in that, a sacrifice
To thank the gods, _Melantius_ is return'd
In safety; victory sits on his sword
As she was wont; may she build there and dwell,
And may thy Armour be as it hath been,
Only thy valour and thy innocence.
What endless treasures would our enemies give,
That I might hold thee still thus!

_Mel_. I am but poor in words, but credit me young man,
Thy Mother could no more but weep, for joy to see thee
After long absence; all the wounds I have,
Fetch not so much away, nor all the cryes
Of Widowed Mothers: but this is peace;
And what was War?

_Amin_. Pardon thou holy God