_Mel_. None but a fearful conscience, that's too many. Who is't?

_Evad_. O hear me gently; it was the King.

_Mel_. No more. My worthy father's and my services
Are liberally rewarded! King, I thank thee,
For all my dangers and my wounds, thou hast paid me
In my own metal: These are Souldiers thanks.
How long have you liv'd thus _Evadne_?

_Evad_. Too long.

_Mel_. Too late you find it: can you be sorry?

_Evad_. Would I were half as blameless.

_Mel_. _Evadne_, thou wilt to thy trade again.

_Evad_. First to my grave.

_Mel_. Would gods th'hadst been so blest:
Dost thou not hate this King now? prethee hate him:
Couldst thou not curse him? I command thee curse him,
Curse till the gods hear, and deliver him
To thy just wishes: yet I fear _Evadne_;
You had rather play your game out.

_Evad_. No, I feel
Too many sad confusions here to let in any loose flame
hereafter.