_Mel_. Good Madam, not to make you merry.

_Evad_. No, if you praise me, 'twill make me sad.

_Mel_. Such a sad commendation I have for you.

_Evad_. Brother, the Court hath made you witty,
And learn to riddle.

_Mel_. I praise the Court for't; has it learned you nothing?

_Evad_. Me?

_Mel_. I _Evadne_, thou art young and handsom,
A Lady of a sweet complexion,
And such a flowing carriage, that it cannot
Chuse but inflame a Kingdom.

_Evad_. Gentle Brother!

_Mel_. 'Tis yet in thy remembrance, foolish woman,
To make me gentle.

_Evad_. How is this?

_Mel_. 'Tis base,
And I could blush at these years, through all
My honour'd scars, to come to such a parly.