Cal. All this thou think'st is sport;
For mine is worse: but use thy will with me;
For betwixt grief and anger I could cry.
Mel. Be wise then, and be safe; thou may'st revenge.
Cal. I o'th' King? I would revenge of thee.
Mel. That you must plot your self.
Cal. I am a fine plotter.
Mel. The short is, I will hold thee with the King In this perplexity, till peevishness And thy disgrace have laid thee in thy grave: But if thou wilt deliver up the Fort, I'le take thy trembling body in my arms, And bear thee over dangers; thou shalt hold thy wonted state.
Cal. If I should tell the King, can'st thou deny't again?
Mel. Try and believe.
Cal. Nay then, thou can'st bring any thing about: Thou shalt have the Fort.
Mel. Why well, here let our hate be buried, and This hand shall right us both; give me thy aged breast to compass.