Evad. The gods are not of my mind; they had better
let 'em lie sweet still in the earth; they'l stink here.
Mel. Do you raise mirth out of my easiness?
Forsake me then all weaknesses of Nature,
That make men women: Speak you whore, speak truth,
Or by the dear soul of thy sleeping Father,
This sword shall be thy lover: tell, or I'le kill thee:
And when thou hast told all, thou wilt deserve it.
Evad. You will not murder me!
Mel. No, 'tis a justice, and a noble one, To put the light out of such base offenders.
Evad. Help!
Mel. By thy foul self, no humane help shall help thee,
If thou criest: when I have kill'd thee, as I have
Vow'd to do, if thou confess not, naked as thou hast
left
Thine honour, will I leave thee,
That on thy branded flesh the world may read
Thy black shame, and my justice; wilt thou bend yet?
Evad. Yes.
Mel. Up and begin your story.
Evad. Oh I am miserable.
Mel. 'Tis true, thou art, speak truth still.