Like her, a face as womanish as hers,
But with a spirit that hath much out-grown
The number of his years.

[_Enter Amintor_.

_Cle_. My Lord the Bridegroom!

_Mel_. I might run fiercely, not more hastily
Upon my foe: I love thee well _Amintor_,
My mouth is much too narrow for my heart;
I joy to look upon those eyes of thine;
Thou art my friend, but my disorder'd speech cuts off
my love.

_Amin_. Thou art _Melantius_;
All love is spoke in that, a sacrifice
To thank the gods, _Melantius_ is return'd
In safety; victory sits on his sword
As she was wont; may she build there and dwell,
And may thy Armour be as it hath been,
Only thy valour and thy innocence.
What endless treasures would our enemies give,
That I might hold thee still thus!

_Mel_. I am but poor in words, but credit me young man,
Thy Mother could no more but weep, for joy to see thee
After long absence; all the wounds I have,
Fetch not so much away, nor all the cryes
Of Widowed Mothers: but this is peace;