_Cal_. Pity! a pox upon you.

_King_. Mark his disordered words, and at the Mask.

_Mel_. _Diagoras_ knows he raged, and rail'd at me,
And cal'd a Lady Whore, so innocent
She understood him not; but it becomes
Both you and me too, to forgive distraction,
Pardon him as I do.

_Cal_. I'le not speak for thee, for all thy cunning, if you
will be safe chop off his head, for there was never
known so impudent a Rascal.

_King_. Some that love him, get him to bed: Why, pity
should not let age make it self contemptible; we must
be all old, have him away.

_Mel. Calianax_, the King believes you; come, you shall go
Home, and rest; you ha' done well; you'l give it up
When I have us'd you thus a moneth I hope.

_Cal_. Now, now, 'tis plain Sir, he does move me still;
He sayes he knows I'le give him up the Fort,
When he has us'd me thus a moneth: I am mad,
Am I not still?

_Omnes_. Ha, ha, ha!

_Cal_. I shall be mad indeed, if you do thus;