When they were good.

[Exit Aspatia.

Mel. How's this?

Lys. You are mistaken, for she is not married.

Mel. You said Amintor was.

Diph. 'Tis true; but

Mel. Pardon me, I did receive
                  Letters at Patria, from my Amintor,
                  That he should marry her.

Diph. And so it stood,
                  In all opinion long; but your arrival
                  Made me imagine you had heard the change.

Mel. Who hath he taken then?

Lys. A Lady Sir,
                  That bears the light above her, and strikes dead
                  With flashes of her eye; the fair Evadne your
                  vertuous Sister.

Mel. Peace of heart betwixt them: but this is strange.

Lys. The King my brother did it
                  To honour you; and these solemnities
                  Are at his charge.

Mel. 'Tis Royal, like himself;
                  But I am sad, my speech bears so unfortunate a sound
                  To beautiful Aspatia; there is rage
                  Hid in her fathers breast; Calianax
                  Bent long against me, and he should not think,
                  If I could call it back, that I would take
                  So base revenges, as to scorn the state
                  Of his neglected daughter: holds he still his greatness
                  with the King?

Lys. Yes; but this Lady
                  Walks discontented, with her watry eyes
                  Bent on the earth: the unfrequented woods
                  Are her delight; and when she sees a bank
                  Stuck full of flowers, she with a sigh will tell
                  Her servants what a pretty place it were
                  To bury lovers in, and make her maids
                  Pluck'em, and strow her over like a Corse.
                  She carries with her an infectious grief
                  That strikes all her beholders, she will sing
                  The mournful'st things that ever ear hath heard,
                  And sigh, and sing again, and when the rest
                  Of our young Ladies in their wanton blood,
                  Tell mirthful tales in course that fill the room
                  With laughter, she will with so sad a look
                  Bring forth a story of the silent death
                  Of some forsaken Virgin, which her grief
                  Will put in such a phrase, that ere she end,
                  She'l send them weeping one by one away.

Mel. She has a brother under my command
                  Like her, a face as womanish as hers,
                  But with a spirit that hath much out-grown
                  The number of his years.

[Enter Amintor.

Cle. My Lord the Bridegroom!

Mel. I might run fiercely, not more hastily
                  Upon my foe: I love thee well Amintor,
                  My mouth is much too narrow for my heart;
                   I joy to look upon those eyes of thine;
                  Thou art my friend, but my disorder'd speech cuts off
                  my love.

Amin. Thou art Melantius;
                  All love is spoke in that, a sacrifice
                  To thank the gods, Melantius is return'd
                  In safety; victory sits on his sword
                  As she was wont; may she build there and dwell,
                  And may thy Armour be as it hath been,
                  Only thy valour and thy innocence.
                  What endless treasures would our enemies give,
                  That I might hold thee still thus!

Mel. I am but poor in words, but credit me young man,
                  Thy Mother could no more but weep, for joy to see thee
                  After long absence; all the wounds I have,
                  Fetch not so much away, nor all the cryes
                  Of Widowed Mothers: but this is peace;
                  And what was War?

Amin. Pardon thou holy God
                  Of Marriage bed, and frown not, I am forc't
                  In answer of such noble tears as those,
                  To weep upon my Wedding day.

Mel. I fear thou art grown too sick; for I hear
                  A Lady mourns for thee, men say to death,
                  Forsaken of thee, on what terms I know not.

Amin. She had my promise, but the King forbad it,
                  And made me make this worthy change, thy Sister
                  Accompanied with graces above her,
                  With whom I long to lose my lusty youth,
                  And grow old in her arms.

Mel. Be prosperous.

[Enter Messenger.

Messen. My Lord, the Maskers rage for you.

Lys. We are gone. Cleon, Strata, Diphilus.

Amin. Wee'l all attend you, we shall trouble you
                 With our solemnities.

Mel. Not so Amintor.
                 But if you laugh at my rude carriage
                 In peace, I'le do as much for you in War
                When you come thither: yet I have a Mistress
                 To bring to your delights; rough though I am,
                 I have a Mistress, and she has a heart,
                 She saies, but trust me, it is stone, no better,
                 There is no place that I can challenge in't.