How Sir? Have I preserv'd you from a childe, From all the arrowes, malice or ambition Could shoot at you, and have I this for pay?

_Arb_.

Tis true thou didst preserve me, and in that Wert crueller then hardned murderers Of infants and their mothers; thou didst save me Onely till thou hadst studdied out a way How to destroy me cunningly thy selfe: This was a curious way of torturing.

_Gob_.

What doe you meane?

_Arb_.

Thou knowst the evils thou hast done to me, Dost thou remember all those witching letters Thou sentst unto me to _Armenia_, Fild with the praise of my beloved Sister, Where thou extolst her beautie; what had I To doe with that, what could her beautie be To me, and thou didst write how well shee lov'd me, Doest thou remember this: so that I doated Something before I saw her.

_Gob_.

This is true.

_Arb_.

Is it, and I when I was returnd thou knowst Thou didst pursue it, till thou woundst mee into Such a strange, and unbeleev'd affection, As good men cannot thinke on.

_Gob_.

This I grant, I thinke I was the cause.

_Arb_.

Wert thou? Nay more, I thinke thou meantst it.

_Gob_.

Sir I hate a lie.

As I love God and honestie, I did: It was my meaning.

_Arb_.

Be thine owne sad Judge, A further condemnation will not need: Prepare thy selfe to die.

_Gob_.

Why Sir to die?

_Arb_.

Why wouldst thou live, was ever yet offender So impudent, that had a thought of mercy After confession of a crime like this?

Get out I cannot, where thou hurlst me in, But I can take revenge, that's all the sweetnesse Left for me.

_Gob_.

Now is the time, heare me but speake.

_Arb_.

No, yet I will be farre more mercifull Then thou wert to me; thou didst steale into me, And never gavest me warning: so much time As I give thee now, had prevented thee For ever. Notwithstanding all thy sinnes, If thou hast hope, that there is yet a prayer To save thee, turne, and speake it to your selfe.

_Gob_.

Sir, you shall know your sinnes before you doe um If you kill me.

_Arb_.

I will not stay then.

_Gob_.

Know you kill your Father.

_Arb_.

How?

_Gob_.

You kill your Father.

_Arb_.

My Father? though I know it for a lie Made out of feare to save thy stained life: The verie reverence of the word comes crosse me, And ties mine arme downe.

_Gob_.

I will tell you that shall heighten you againe, I am thy Father, I charge thee heare me.

_Arb_.

If it should be so, As tis most false, and that I should be found A bastard issue, the dispised fruite Of lawlesse lust, I should no more admire All my wilde passions: but another truth Shall be wrung from thee: If I could come by The spirit of paine, it should be powr'd on thee, Till thou allowest thy selfe more full of lies Then he that teaches thee.

_Enter Arane_.

_Arane_.

Turne thee about, I come to speake to thee thou wicked man, Heare me thou Tyrant.

_Arb_.

I will turne to thee, Heare me thou Strumpet: I have blotted out The name of mother, as thou hast thy shame.

_Ara_.