And tell them what a brave man you are; I shall laugh
at you.

_Mel_. Y'are grown a glorious Whore; where be your
Fighters? what mortal Fool durst raise thee to this
daring,
And I alive? by my just Sword, h'ad safer
Bestride a Billow when the angry North
Plows up the Sea, or made Heavens fire his food;
Work me no higher; will you discover yet?

_Evad_. The Fellow's mad, sleep and speak sense.

_Mel_. Force my swollen heart no further; I would save
thee; your great maintainers are not here, they dare
not, would they were all, and armed, I would speak
loud; here's one should thunder to 'em: will you tell
me? thou hast no hope to scape; he that dares most,
and damns away his soul to do thee service, will
sooner fetch meat from a hungry Lion, than come to
rescue thee; thou hast death about thee: h'as
undone thine honour, poyson'd thy vertue, and of a
lovely rose, left thee a canker.

_Evad_. Let me consider.

_Mel_. Do, whose child thou wert,
Whose honour thou hast murdered, whose grave open'd,
And so pull'd on the Gods, that in their justice
They must restore him flesh again and life,