Wench! they respect not me, I'm old and rough, and every limb about me, but that which should, grows stiffer, I'those businesses I may swear I am truly honest: for I pay justly for what I take, and would be glad to be at a certainty. _Arb_. Why, do the wenches encroach upon thee? _Mar_. I by this light do they. _Arb_. Didst thou sit at an old rent with 'em? _Mar_. Yes faith. _Arb_. And do they improve themselves? _Mar_. I ten shillings to me, every new young fellow they come acquainted with. _Arb_. How canst live on't? _Mar_. Why I think I must petition to you. _Arb_. Thou shalt take them up at my price. _Enter two Gentlemen and_ Bessus. _Mar_. Your price? _Arb_. I at the Kings price. _Mar_. That may be more than I'me worth. _2 Gent_. Is he not merry now? _1 Gent_. I think not. _Bes_. He is, he is: we'l shew our selves. _Arb_. Bessus, I thought you had been in _Iberia_ by this, I bad you hast; _Gobrias_ will want entertainment for me. _Bes_. And please your Majesty I have a sute. _Arb_. Is't not lousie _Bessus_, what is't? _Bes_. I am to carry a Lady with me. _Arb_. Then thou hast two sutes. _Bes_. And if I can prefer her to the Lady _Pentha_ your Majesties Sister, to learn fashions, as her friends term it, it will be worth something to me. _Arb_. So many nights lodgings as 'tis thither, wilt not? _Bes_. I know not that Sir, but gold I shall be sure of. _Arb_. Why thou shalt bid her entertain her from me, so thou wilt resolve me one thing. _Bes_. If I can. _Arb_. Faith 'tis a very disputable question, and yet I think thou canst decide it. _Bes_. Your Majesty has a good opinion of my understanding. _Arb_. I have so good an opinion of it: 'tis whether thou be valiant. _Bes_. Some body has traduced me to you: do you see this sword Sir? _Arb_. Yes. _Bes_. If I do not make my back-biters eat it to a knife within this week, say I am not valiant. _Enter a Messenger_. _Mes_. Health to your Majesty. _Arb_. From Gobrias? _Mes_. Yes Sir. _Arb_. How does he, is he well? _Mes_. In perfect health. _Arb_. Take that for thy good news. A trustier servant to his Prince there lives not, than is good Gobrias. _1 Gent_. The King starts back. _Mar_. His blood goes back as fast. _2 Gent_. And now it comes again. _Mar_. He alters strangely. _Arb_. The hand of Heaven is on me, be it far from me to struggle, if my secret sins have pull'd this curse upon me, lend me tears now to wash me white, that I may feel a child-like innocence within my breast; which once perform'd, O give me leave to stand as fix'd as constancy her self, my eyes set here unmov'd, regardless of the world though thousand miseries incompass me. _Mar_. This is strange, Sir, how do you? _Arb_. Mardonius, my mother. _Mar_. Is she dead? _Arb_.