Cal. I’ll spoil your mirth:
I mean to fight with thee. There lie, my cloak!
This was my father’s sword, and he durst fight.
Are you prepared?

Mel. Why wilt thou dote thyself
Out of thy life? Hence, get thee to bed!
Have careful looking-to, and eat warm things,
And trouble not me: My head is full of thoughts,
More weighty than thy life or death can be.

Cal. You have a name in war, where you stand safe
Amongst a multitude; but I will try
What you dare do unto a weak old man
In single fight. You will give ground, I fear.
Come, draw.

Mel. I will not draw, unless thou pull’st thy death
Upon thee with a stroke. There’s no one blow,
That thou canst give, hath strength enough to kill me.
Tempt me not so far then: The power of earth
Shall not redeem thee.

Cal. [aside.] I must let him alone:
He’s stout and able; and, to say the truth,
However I may set a face, and talk,
I am not valiant. When I was a youth,
I kept my credit with a testy trick
I had, ’mongst cowards, but durst never fight.

Mel. I will not promise to preserve your life,
If you do stay.

Cal. I would give half my land
That I durst fight with that proud man a little.
If I had men to told him, I would beat him
Till he ask’d me mercy.

Mel. Sir, will you be gone?

Cal. I dare not stay; but I’ll go home, and beat
My servants all over for this.

[Exit Calianax.

Mel. This old fellow haunts me!
But the distracted carriage of my Amintor
Takes deeply on me: I will find the cause.
I fear his conscience cries, he wrong’d Aspatia.

Enter AMINTOR.

Amin. Men’s eyes are not so subtle to perceive
My inward misery: I bear my grief
Hid from the world. How art thou wretched then?
For aught I know, all husbands are like me;
And every one I talk with of his wife,
Is but a well dissembler of his woes,
As I am. ’Would I knew it! for the rareness
Afflicts me now.

Mel. Amintor, we have not enjoy’d our friendship of late,
For we were wont to change our souls in talk.

Amin. Melantius, I can tell thee a good jest
Of Strato and a lady the last day.

Mel. How was’t?

Amin. Why, such an odd one!

Mel. I have long’d to speak with you;
Not of an idle jest, that’s forced, but of matter
You are bound to utter to me.

Amin. What is that, my friend?

Mel. I have observed your words
Fall from your tongue wildly; and all your carriage
Like one that strove to show his merry mood,
When he were ill disposed: You were not wont
To put such scorn into your speech, or wear
Upon your face ridiculous jollity.
Some sadness sits here, which your cunning would
Cover o’er with smiles, and ’twill not be.
What is it?

Amin. A sadness here! what cause
Can fate provide for me, to make me so?
Am I not loved through all this isle? The king
Rains greatness on me. Have I not received
A lady to my bed, that in her eye
Keeps