Amint. Do not wrong me so;
Yes, if his body were a poysonous plant,
That it were death to touch, I have a soul
Will throw me on him.
Evad. Why 'tis the King.
Amint. The King!
Evad. What will you do now?
Amint. 'Tis not the King.
Evad. What, did he make this match for dull Amintor?
Amint. Oh! thou hast nam'd a word that wipes away
All thoughts revengeful: in that sacred name,
The King, there lies a terror: what frail man
Dares lift his hand against it? let the Gods
Speak to him when they please;
Till then let us suffer and wait.
Evad. Why should you fill your self so full of heat,
And haste so to my bed? I am no Virgin.
Amint. What Devil put it in thy fancy then
To marry me?
Evad. Alas, I must have one
To Father Children, and to bear the name
Of Husband to me, that my sin may be more honourable.