Amint. No; for it will be cal'd
Honour in thee to spill thy Sisters blood,
If she her birth abuse, and on the King
A brave revenge: but on me that have walkt
With patience in it, it will fix the name
Of fearful Cuckold—O that word! be quick.
Mel. Then joyn with me.
Amint. I dare not do a sin, or else I would: be speedy.
Mel. Then dare not fight with me, for that's a sin.
His grief distracts him; call thy thoughts agen,
And to thy self pronounce the name of friend,
And see what that will work; I will not fight.
Amint. You must.
Mel. I will be kill'd first, though my passions
Offred the like to you; 'tis not this earth
Shall buy my reason to it; think a while,
For you are (I must weep when I speak that)
Almost besides your self.
Amint. Oh my soft temper!
So many sweet words from thy Sisters mouth,
I am afraid would make me take her
To embrace, and pardon her. I am mad indeed,
And know not what I do; yet have a care
Of me in what thou doest.
Mel. Why thinks my friend I will forget his honour, or to save
The bravery of our house, will lose his fame,
And fear to touch the Throne of Majesty?
Amint. A curse will follow that, but rather live
And suffer with me.
Mel. I will do what worth shall bid me, and no more.