Amin. By all our friendship, these.

Mel. What, am I tame?
After mine actions, shall the name of friend
Blot all our family, and stick the brand
Of whore upon my sister, unrevenged?
My shaking flesh, be thou a witness for me,
With what unwillingness I go to scourge
This railer, whom my folly hath called friend!—
I will not take thee basely; thy sword
Hangs near thy hand; draw it, that I may whip
Thy rashness to repentance. Draw thy sword!

Amin. Not on thee, did thine anger swell as high
As the wild surges. Thou shouldst do me ease
Here, and eternally, if thy noble hand
Would cut me from my sorrows.

Mel. This is base
And fearful. They, that use to utter lies,
Provide not blows, but words, to qualify
The men they wrong’d. Thou hast a guilty cause.

Amin. Thou pleasest me; for so much more like this
Will raise my anger up above my griefs,
(Which is a passion easier to be borne)
And I shall then be happy.

Mel. Take then more,
To raise thine anger: ’Tis mere cowardice
Makes thee not draw; and I will leave thee dead,
However. But if thou art so much press’d
With guilt and fear, as not to dare to fight,
I’ll make thy memory loath’d, and fix a scandal
Upon thy name for ever.

Amin. Then I draw,
As justly as our magistrates their swords
To cut offenders off. I knew before,
’Twould grate your ears; but it was base in you
To urge a weighty secret from your friend,
And then rage at it. I shall be at ease,
If I be kill’d; and if you fall by me,
I shall not long out-live you.

Mel. Stay awhile.—
The name of friend is more than family,
Or all the world besides: I was a fool!
Thou searching human nature, that didst wake
To do me wrong, thou art inquisitive,
And thrust’st me upon questions that will take
My sleep away! ’Would I had died, ere known
This sad dishonour!—Pardon me, my friend!
If thou wilt strike, here is a faithful heart;
Pierce it, for I will never heave my hand
To thine. Behold the power thou hast in me!
I do believe my sister is a whore,
A leprous one! Put up thy sword, young man.

Amin. How shall I bear it then, she being so?
I fear, my friend, that you will lose me shortly;
And I shall do a foul act on myself,
Through these disgraces.

Mel. Better half the land
Were buried quick together. No, Amintor;
Thou shalt have ease. Oh, this adulterous king,
That drew her to it! Where got he the spirit
To wrong me so?

Amin. What is it then to me,
If it be wrong to you?

Mel. Why, not so much:
The credit of our house is thrown away.
But from his iron den I’ll waken Death,
And hurl him on this king! My honesty
Shall steel my sword; and on its horrid point
I’ll wear my cause, that shall amaze the eyes
Of this proud man, and be too glittering
For him to look on.

Amin. I have quite undone my fame.

Mel. Dry up thy watery eyes,
And cast a manly look upon my face;
For nothing is so wild as I, thy friend,
Till I have freed thee. Still this swelling breast!
I go thus from thee, and will never cease
My vengeance, till I find thy heart at peace.

Amin. It must not be so. Stay!—Mine eyes would tell
How loth I am to this; but, love and tears,
Leave me awhile; for I have hazarded
All that this world calls happy.—Thou hast wrought
A secret from me, under name of friend,
Which art could ne’er have found, nor torture wrung
From out my bosom: Give it me again,
For I will find it, wheresoe’er it lies,
Hid in the mortal’st part! Invent a way
To give it back.

Mel. Why would you have it back?
I will to death pursue him with revenge.