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_. 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_.