Diph. O brother! here lies your Sister slain;
You lose your self in sorrow there.
Mel. Why Diphilus, it is
A thing to laugh at in respect of this;
Here was my Sister, Father, Brother, Son;
All that I had; speak once again;
What youth lies slain there by thee?
Amint. 'Tis Aspatia.
My senses fade, let me give up my soul
Into thy bosom.
_Cal. What's that? what's that? Aspatia!
Mel. I never did repent the greatness of my heart till now; It will not burst at need.
Cal. My daughter dead here too! and you have all fine new tricks to grieve; but I ne're knew any but direct crying.
Mel. I am a pratler, but no more.
Diph. Hold Brother.
Lysip. Stop him.
Diph. Fie; how unmanly was this offer in you!
Does this become our strain?