_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_.
Our King I say was old, and this our Queene
Desired to bring an heire; but yet her husband
Shee thought was past it, and to be dishonest
I thinke shee would not; if shee would have beene,
The truth is, shee was watcht so narrowlie,
And had so slender opportunitie,
Shee hardly could have beene: But yet her cunning
Found out this way; shee fain'd her selfe with child,
And postes were sent in haste throughout the Land,
And God was humbly thankt in every Church,
That so had blest the Queen, and prayers were made
For her safe going, and deliverie:
Shee fain'd now to grow bigger, and perceiv'd
This hope of issue made her feard, and brought
A farre more large respect from everie man.
And saw her power increase, and was resolv'd,
Since shee believ'd shee could not have't indeede;
At least shee would be thought to have a child.
_Arb_.
Doe I not heare it well: nay, I will make
No noise at all; but pray you to the point,
Quicke as you can.
_Gob_.
Now when the time was full,
Shee should be brought abed; I had a sonne
Borne, which was you: This the Queene hearing of,
Mov'd me to let her have you, and such reasons
Shee shewed me, as shee knew would tie
My secresie: shee sware you should be King;
And to be short, I did deliver you
Unto her, and pretended you were dead;
And in mine owne house kept a Funerall,
And had an emptie coffin put in earth:
That night the Queene fain'd hastilie to labour,
And by a paire of women of her owne,
Which shee had charm'd, shee made the world believe
Shee was deliver'd of you: you grew up
As the Kings sonne, till you were six yeere olde;
Then did the King die, and did leave to me
Protection of the Realme; and contrarie
To his owne expectation, left this Queene
Truly with Childe indeed of the faire Princesse
_Panthea_: Then shee could have torne her heire,
And did alone to me yet durst not speake
In publike; for shee knew shee should be found
A Traytor, and her talke would have beene thought
Madnesse or any thing rather then truth:
This was the onely cause why shee did seeke
To poyson you, and I to keepe you safe:
And this the reason why I sought to kindle
Some sparke of love in you to faire _Panthea_,
That shee might get part of her right agen.
_Arb_.
And have you made an end now, is this all?
If not, I will be still till I am aged,
Till all my heires are silver.
_Gob_.
This is all.
_Arb_.
And is it true say you Maddam?
_Ara_.
Yes, God knowes it is most true.
_Arb_.
_Panthea_ then is not my Sister.
_Gob_.
No.
_Arb_.
But can you prove this?
[_Gob_.]
If you will give consent: else who dare goe about it.
_Arb_.
Give consent?
Why I will have them all that know it rackt
To get this from um: All that waites without
Come in, what ere you be come in, and be
Partakers of my Joy: O you are welcome.
_Ent. Mar: Bessus, and others_.
_Mardonius_ the best newes, nay, draw no neerer
They all shall heare it: I am found no King.
_Mar_.
Is that so good newes?
_Art_.
Yes, the happiest newes that ere was heard.
_Mar_.
Indeed twere well for you,
If you might be a little lesse obey'd.
_Arb_.
On, call the Queene.
_Mar_.
Why she is there.
_Arb_.
The Queene _Mardonius_, _Panthea_ is the Queene,
And I am plaine _Arbaces_, goe some one,
She is in _Gobrius_ house; since I saw you
There are a thousand things delivered to me
You little dreame of.
_Mar_.
So it should seeme: My Lord,
What furi's this.
_Gob_.
Beleeve me tis no fury,
All that he sayes is truth.
_Mar_.
Tis verie strange.
_Arb_.
Why doe you keepe your hats off Gentlemen,
Is it to me? in good faith it must not be:
I cannot now command you, but I pray you
For the respect you bare me, when you tooke
Me for your King, each man clap on his hat at my desire.
_Mar_.
We will: but you are not found
So meane a man, but that you may be cover'd
As well as we, may you not?
_Arb_.
O not here,
You may, but not I, for here is my Father in presence.
_Mar_.
Where?
_Arb_.
Why there: O the whole storie
Would be a wildernesse to loose thy selfe
For ever; O pardon me deare Father,
For all the idle, and unreverent words
That I have spoke in idle moodes to you:
I am _Arbaces_, we all fellow subjects,
Nor is the Queene _Panthea_ now my Sister.
_Bes_.
Why if you remember fellow subject _Arbaces_, I tolde you once
she was not your sister, I say she look't nothing like you.
_Arb_.