_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_.
Alas she's not so happy, thou dost know how she hath laboured
since my Father died to take by treason hence this loathed life,
that would but be to serve her, I have pardoned, and pardoned,
and by that have made her fit to practise new sins, not repent
the old: she now had stirr'd a slave to come from thence, and
strike me here, whom Gobrias sifting out, took and condemn'd and
executed there, the carefulst servant: Heaven let me but live to
pay that man; Nature is poor to me, that will not let me have as
many deaths as are the times that he hath say'd my life, that I
might dye 'em over all for him.
_Mar_.
Sir let her bear her sins on her own head,
Vex not your self.
_Arb_.
What will the world
Conceive of me? with what unnatural sins
Will they suppose me loaden, when my life
Is sought by her that gave it to the world?
But yet he writes me comfort here, my Sister,
He saies, is grown in beauty and in grace.
In all the innocent vertues that become
A tender spotless maid: she stains her cheeks
With morning tears to purge her mothers ill,
And 'mongst that sacred dew she mingles Prayers
Her pure Oblations for my safe return:
If I have lost the duty of a Son,
If any pomp or vanity of state
Made me forget my natural offices,
Nay farther, if I have not every night
Expostulated with my wandring thoughts,
If ought unto my parent they have err'd,
And call'd 'em back: do you direct her arm
Unto this foul dissembling heart of mine:
But if I have been just to her, send out
Your power to compass me, and hold me safe
From searching treason; I will use no means
But prayer: for rather suffer me to see
From mine own veins issue a deadly flood,
Than wash my danger off with mothers blood.
_Mar_.