_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;