_Cal_. Do, mock me.

_Mel_. By mine honour I speak truth.

_Cal_. Honour? where is't?

_Mel_. See what starts you make into your hatred to my
love and freedom to you.--
I come with resolution to obtain a suit of you.

_Cal_. A suit of me! 'tis very like it should be granted, Sir.

_Mel_. Nay, go not hence;
'Tis this; you have the keeping of the Fort,
And I would wish you by the love you ought
To bear unto me, to deliver it into my hands.

_Cal_. I am in hope that thou art mad, to talk to me thus.

_Mel_. But there is a reason to move you to it. I would
kill the King that wrong'd you and your daughter.

_Cal_. Out Traytor!

_Mel_. Nay but stay; I cannot scape, the deed once done,
Without I have this fort.

_Cal_. And should I help thee? now thy treacherous mind
betrays it self.