_Mel_. You may shape, _Amintor_, Causes to cozen the whole world withal, And your self too; but 'tis not like a friend, To hide your soul from me; 'tis not your nature To be thus idle; I have seen you stand As you were blasted; midst of all your mirth, Call thrice aloud, and then start, feigning joy So coldly: World! what do I here? a friend Is nothing, Heaven! I would ha' told that man My secret sins; I'le search an unknown Land, And there plant friendship, all is withered here; Come with a complement, I would have fought, Or told my friend he ly'd, ere sooth'd him so; Out of my bosom. _Amint_. But there is nothing. _Mel_. Worse and worse; farewel; From this time have acquaintance, but no friend. _Amint_. _Melantius_, stay, you shall know what that is. _Mel_. See how you play'd with friendship; be advis'd How you give cause unto your self to say, You ha'lost a friend. _Amint_. Forgive what I have done; For I am so ore-gone with injuries Unheard of, that I lose consideration Of what I ought to do--oh--oh. _Mel_. Do not weep; what is't? May I once but know the man Hath turn'd my friend thus? _Amint_. I had spoke at first, but that. _Mel_. But what? _Amint_. I held it most unfit For you to know; faith do not know it yet. _Mel_. Thou seest my love, that will keep company With thee in tears; hide nothing then from me; For when I know the cause of thy distemper, With mine own armour I'le adorn my self, My resolution, and cut through thy foes, Unto thy quiet, till I place thy heart As peaceable as spotless innocence. What is it? _Amint_. Why, 'tis this--it is too big To get out, let my tears make way a while. _Mel_. Punish me strangely heaven, if he escape Of life or fame, that brought this youth to this. _Amint_. Your Sister. _Mel_. Well said. _Amint_. You'l wish't unknown, when you have heard it. _Mel_. No. _Amint_. Is much to blame, And to the King has given her honour up, And lives in Whoredom with him. _Mel_. How, this! Thou art run mad with injury indeed, Thou couldst not utter this else; speak again, For I forgive it freely; tell thy griefs. _Amint_. She's wanton; I am loth to say a Whore, Though it be true. _Mel_. Speak yet again, before mine anger grow Up beyond throwing down; what are thy griefs?