My shame, thou hast lesse shame then anything: Why dost thou keepe my daughter in a prison?

Why dost thou call her Sister, and doe this?

_Arb_.

Cease thou strange impudence, and answere quickly, If thou contemn'st me, this will aske an answere, And have it.

_Ara_.

Helpe me gentle _Gobrius_.

_Arb_.

Guilt dare not helpe guilt, though they grow together In doing ill, yet at the punishment They sever, and each flies the noyse of other, Thinke not of helpe, answere.

_Ara_.

I will, to what?

_Arb_.

To such a thing as if it be a truth, Thinke what a creature thou hast made thy selfe, That didst not shame to doe, what I must blush Onely to aske thee: tell me who I am, Whose sonne I am, without all circumstance; Be thou as hastie, as my Sword will be If thou refusest.

_Ara_.

Why you are his sonne.

_Arb_.

His sonne?

Sweare, sweare, thou worse then woman damn'd.

_Ara_.

By all thats good you are.

_Arb_.

Then art thou all that ever was knowne bad. Now is The cause of all my strange misfortunes come to light: What reverence expects thou from a childe To bring forth which thou hast offended Heaven, Thy husband and the Land: Adulterous witch I know now why thou wouldst have poyson'd me, I was thy lust which thou wouldst have forgot: Thou wicked mother of my sinnes, and me, Shew me the way to the inheritance I have by thee: which is a spacious world Of impious acts, that I may soone possesse it: Plagues rott thee, as thou liv'st, and such diseases As use to pay lust, recompence thy deed.

_Gob_.

You doe not know why you curse thus.

_Arb_.

Too well: You are a paire of Vipers, and behold The Serpent you have got; there is no beast But if he knew, it has a pedigree As brave as mine, for they have more discents, And I am every way as beastly got, As farre without the compasse of a law, As they.

_Ara_.

You spend your rage, and words in vaine, And raile upon a guesse: heare us a little.

_Arb_.

No I will never heare, but talke away My breath, and die.

_Gob_.

Why but you are no Bastard.

_Arb_.

Howe's that?

_Ara_.

Nor childe of mine.

_Arb_.

Still you goe on in wonders to me.

_Gob_.

Pray be more patient, I may bring comfort to you.

_Arb_.

I will kneele, And heare with the obedience of a childe; Good Father speake, I doe acknowledge you, So you bring comfort.

_Gob_.

First know our last King your supposed Father Was olde and feeble when he marryed her, And almost all the Land as shee past hope Of issue from him.

_Arb_.

Therefore shee tooke leave To play the whoore, because the King was old: Is this the comfort?

_Ara_.

What will you find out To give me satisfaction, when you find How you have injur'd me: let fire consume mee, If ever I were whore.

_Gob_.

Forbeare these starts, Or I will leave you wedded to despaire, As you are now: if you can find a temper, My breath shall be a pleasant westerne wind, That cooles, and blastes not.

_Arb_.

Bring it out good Father, He lie, artd listen here as reverentlie As to an Angell: If I breathe too loude, Tell me; for I would be as still as night.