King. Speak lower; ’tis false.

Evad. I am no man
To answer with a blow; or, if I were,
You are the king! But urge me not; ’tis most true.

King. Do not I know the uncontrolled thoughts
That youth brings with him, when his blood is high
With expectation, and desire of that
He long hath waited for? Is not his spirit,
Though he be temperate, of a valiant strain
As this our age hath known? What could he do,
If such a sudden speech had met his blood,
But ruin thee for ever, if he had not kill’d thee?
He could not bear it thus. He is as we,
Or any other wrong’d man.

Evad. ’Tis dissembling.

King. Take him! farewell! henceforth I am thy foe;
And what disgraces I can blot thee with look for.

Evad. Stay, sir!—Amintor!—You shall hear.—Amintor!

Amin. [coming forward.] What, my love?

Evad. Amintor, thou hast an ingenuous look,
And shouldst be virtuous: It amazeth me,
That thou canst make such base malicious lies!

Amin. What, my dear wife!

Evad. Dear wife! I do despise thee.
Why, nothing can be baser than to sow
Dissension amongst lovers.

Amin. Lovers! who?

Evad. The king and me.

Amin. O, God!

Evad. Who should live long, and love without distaste,
Were it not for such pickthanks as thyself.
Did you lie with me? Swear now, and be punish’d
In hell for this!

Amin. The faithless sin I made
To fair Aspatia, is not yet revenged;
It follows me.—I will not lose a word
To this vile woman: But to you, my king,
The anguish of my soul thrusts out this truth,
You are a tyrant! And not so much to wrong
An honest man thus, as to take a pride
In talking with him of it.

Evad. Now, sir, see
How loud this fellow lied.

Amin. You that can know to wrong, should know how men
Must right themselves: What punishment is due
From me to him that shall abuse my bed?
Is it not death? Nor can that satisfy,
Unless I send your limbs through all the land,
To show how nobly I have freed myself.

King. Draw not thy sword: thou know’st I cannot fear
A subject’s hand; but thou shalt feel the weight
Of this, if thou dost rage.

Amin. The weight of that!
If you have any worth, for Heaven’s sake, think
I fear not swords; for as you are mere man,
I dare as easily kill you for this deed,
As you dare think to do it. But there is
Divinity about you, that strikes dead
My rising passions: As you are my king,
I fall before you, and present my sword
To cut mine own flesh, if it be your will.
Alas! I am nothing but a multitude
Of walking griefs! Yet, should I murder you,
I might before the world take the excuse
Of madness: For, compare my injuries,
And they will well appear too sad a weight
For reason to endure! But, fall I first
Amongst my sorrows, ere my treacherous hand
Touch holy things! But why (I know not what
I have to say) why did you chuse out me
To make thus wretched? There were thousand fools
Easy to work on, and of state enough,
Within the island.