Mel. That old man,
Who calls me enemy, and of whom I
(Though I will never match my hate so low)
Have no good thought, would yet, I think, excuse me,
And swear he thought me wrong’d in this.

Cal. Who—I?
Thou shameless fellow! Didst thou not speak to me
Of it thyself?

Mel. Oh, then it came from him?

Cal. From me! who should it come from, but from me?

Mel. Nay, I believe your malice is enough:
But I have lost my anger.—Sir, I hope
You are well satisfied.

King. Lysippus, cheer
Amintor and his lady; there’s no sound
Comes from you; I will come and do’t myself.

Amin. You have done already, sir, for me,
I thank you.

[Apart.

King. Melantius, I do credit this from him,
How slight soe’er you make’t.

Mel. ’Tis strange you should.

Cal. ’Tis strange he should believe an old man’s word
That never lied in’s life.

Mel. I talk not to thee!—
Shall the wild words of this distemper’d man,
Frantic with age and sorrow, make a breach
Betwixt your majesty and me? ’Twas wrong
To hearken to him; but to credit him,
As much, at least, as I have power to bear.
But pardon me—whilst I speak only truth,
I may commend myself—I have bestow’d
My careless blood with you, and should be loth
To think an action that would make me lose
That, and my thanks too. When I was a boy,
I thrust myself into my country’s cause,
And did a deed that pluck’d five years from time,
And styled me man then. And for you, my king,
Your subjects all have fed by virtue of
My arm. This sword of mine hath plough’d the ground,
And reapt the fruit in peace;
And you yourself have lived at home in ease.
So terrible I grew, that, without swords,
My name hath fetch’d you conquest: And my heart
And limbs are still the same: my will as great
To do you service. Let me not be paid
With such a strange distrust.

King. Melantius,
I held it great injustice to believe
Thine enemy, and did not; if I did,
I do not; let that satisfy.—What, struck
With sadness all? More wine!

Cal. A few fine words
Have overthrown my truth. Ah, thou’rt a villain!

Mel. Why, thou wert better let me have the fort,

[Apart to him.

Cal. My liege,
He’s at me now again to do it.—Speak;
Deny it, if thou canst.—Examine him
While he is hot; for if he cool again,
He will forswear it.

King. This is lunacy,
I hope, Melantius.

Mel. He hath lost himself
Much, since his daughter miss’d the happiness
My sister gain’d; and, though he call me foe,
I pity him.

Cal. Pity? a pox upon you!