Mel. Do, whose child thou wert,
Whose honour thou hast murder’d, whose grave open’d,
And so pull’d on the gods, that in their justice
They must restore him flesh again, and life,
And raise his dry bones to revenge this scandal.

Evad. The gods are not of my mind; they had better
Let ’em lie sweet still in the earth; they’ll stink here.

Mel. Do you raise mirth out of my easiness?

[Draws.

Evad. You will not murder me?

Mel. No; ’tis a justice, and a noble one,
To put the light out of such base offenders.

Evad. Help!

Mel. By thy foul self, no human help shall help thee,
If thou criest! When I have kill’d thee as I
Have vow’d to do if thou confess not, naked,
As thou hast left thine honour, will I leave thee;
That on thy branded flesh the world may read
Thy black shame, and my justice. Wilt thou bend yet?

Evad. Yes.

Mel. Up, and begin your story.

Evad. Oh, I am miserable!

Mel. ’Tis true, thou art. Speak truth still.

Evad. I have offended: Noble sir, forgive me.

Mel. With what secure slave?

Evad. Do not ask me, sir:
Mine own remembrance is a misery
Too mighty for me.

Mel. Do not fall back again:
My sword’s unsheathed yet.

Evad. What shall I do?

Mel. Be true, and make your fault less.

Evad. I dare not tell.

Mel. Tell, or I’ll be this day a-killing thee.

Evad. Will you forgive me then?

Mel. Stay; I must ask mine honour first.—
I have too much foolish nature in me: Speak.

Evad. Is there none else here?

Mel. None but a fearful conscience; that’s too many.
Who is’t?

Evad. Oh, hear me gently. It was the king.