Of life or fame, that brought this youth to this.

_Amint_. Your Sister.

_Mel_. Well said.

_Amint_. You'l wish't unknown, when you have heard it.

_Mel_. No.

_Amint_. Is much to blame,
And to the King has given her honour up,
And lives in Whoredom with him.

_Mel_. How, this!
Thou art run mad with injury indeed,
Thou couldst not utter this else; speak again,
For I forgive it freely; tell thy griefs.

_Amint_. She's wanton; I am loth to say a Whore,
Though it be true.

_Mel_. Speak yet again, before mine anger grow
Up beyond throwing down; what are thy griefs?

_Amint_. By all our friendship, these.

_Mel_. What? am I tame?
After mine actions, shall the name of friend
Blot all our family, and strike the brand