le.

_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,