Has stirr'd my worthy friend, who is as slow
To fight with words, as he is quick of hand?

_Mel_. That heap of age which I should reverence
If it were temperate: but testy years
Are most contemptible.

_Amint_. Good Sir forbear.

_Cal_. There is just such another as your self.

_Amint_. He will wrong you, or me, or any man,
And talk as if he had no life to lose
Since this our match: the King is coming in,
I would not for more wealth than I enjoy,
He should perceive you raging, he did hear
You were at difference now, which hastned him.

_Cal_. Make room there.

_Hoboyes play within_.

_Enter King, Evadne, Aspatia, Lords and Ladies_.

_King_. _Melantius_, thou art welcome, and my love
Is with thee still; but this is not a place
To brabble in; _Calianax_, joyn hands.

_Cal_. He shall not have my hand.