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. _Gob_.