_Evad_. What will you do now?

_Amint_. 'Tis not the King.

_Evad_. What, did he make this match for dull _Amintor_?

_Amint_. Oh! thou hast nam'd a word that wipes away
All thoughts revengeful: in that sacred name,
The King, there lies a terror: what frail man
Dares lift his hand against it? let the Gods
Speak to him when they please;
Till then let us suffer and wait.

_Evad_. Why should you fill your self so full of heat,
And haste so to my bed? I am no Virgin.

_Amint_. What Devil put it in thy fancy then
To marry me?

_Evad_. Alas, I must have one
To Father Children, and to bear the name
Of Husband to me, that my sin may be more honourable.

_Amint_. What a strange thing am I!

_Evad_. A miserable one; one that my self am sorry for.

_Amint_. Why shew it then in this,
If thou hast pity, though thy love be none,