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tain, rally up your rotten regiment, and be gone. I had rather thresh than be bound to kick these rascals, 'till they cry'd, 'ho!' Bessus, you may put your hand to them now, and then you are quit. Farewell! as you like this, pray visit me again; 'twill keep me in good health. [Exit. 2 Sw. H'as a devilish hard foot; I never felt the like.

1 Sw. Nor I; and yet, I am sure, I have felt a hundred.

2 Sw. If he kick thus i' th' Dog-days, he will be dry-foundred. What cure now, captain, besides oil of bays?

Bes. Why, well enough, I warrant you; you can go?

2 Sw. Yes, Heav'n be thank'd! but I feel a shrewd ache; sure, he's sprang my huckle-bone. 1 Sw. I ha' lost a haunch.

Bes. A little butter, friend, a little butter; but ter and parsley is a sovereign matter: Probatum

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Mar. Sir, I will speak. Arb. Will ye?

Mar. It is my duty.

I fear you'll kill yourself: I am a subject,
And you shall do me wrong in't; 'tis my cause,
And I may speak.

Arb. Thou art not train'd in sin,
It seems, Mardonius: Kill myself! by Heav'n,
I will not do it yet; and, when I will,
I'll tell thee, then I shall be such a creature,
That thou wilt give me leave without a word.
There is a method in man's wickedness;
It grows up by degrees: I am not come
So high as killing of myself; there are
A hundred thousand sins 'twixt me and it,
Which I must do; I shall come to't at last,
But, take my oath, not now. Be satisfied,
And get thee hence.

Mar. I'm sorry 'tis so ill.
Arb. Be sorry, then:

True sorrow is alone; grieve by thyself.
Mar. I pray you let me see your sword put

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Where the most damn'd have dwelling! Ere I As apt to mischief as it was before?

end,

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Can I not reach it, think'st thou? These are toys
For children to be pleas'd with, and not men.
Now I am safe, you think: I would the book
Of Fate were here; my sword is not so sure
But I would get it out, and mangle that,
That all the destinies should quite forget
Their fix'd decrees, and haste to make us new,
Far other fortunes; mine could not be worse.
Wilt thou now leave me?

Mar. Heav'n put into your bosom temperate thoughts!

I'll leave you, though I fear.

Arb. Go; thou art honest.

[Erit MAR.

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Gob. How, sir! Have I preserv'd you, from a
child,

From all the arrows malice or ambition
Could shoot at you, and have I this for pay?
Arb. 'Tis true, thou didst preserve me, and in
that

Wert crueller than hard'ned murderers

Of infants and their mothers? Thou didst save
me,

Only till thou hadst studied out a way
How to destroy me cunningly thyself:
This was a curious way of torturing.
Gob. What do you mean?

Arb. Thou know'st the evils thou hast done to
me!

Dost thou remember all those witching letters
Thou sent'st unto me to Armenia,
Fill'd with the praise of my beloved sister,
Where thou extol'dst her beauty? What had I
To do with that; what could her beauty be

To me? And thou didst write how well she lov'd
me!

Dost thou remember this? so that I doted
Something before I saw her.

Gob. This is true.

Arb. Is it? and, when I was return'd, thou
know'st,

Thou didst pursue it, 'till thou wound'st me in
To such a strange and unbeliev'd affection,
As good men cannot think on.

Gob. This I grant :

I think, I was the cause.

Arb. Wert thou? Nay, more,

I think, thou meant'st it.

Gob Sir, I hate a lye:

As I love Heav'n and honesty, I did;
It was my meaning.

Arb. Be thine own sad judge;

A further condemnation will not need:
Prepare thyself to die.

Gob. Why, sir, to die?

Arb. Why shouldst 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 hurl'dst me in;
But I can take revenge; that's all the sweet-

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Gob. You kill your father.

Arb. My father? Though I know it for a lye,
Made out of fear, to save thy stained life,
The very rev'rence of the word comes cross me,
And ties mine arm down.

Gob. I will tell you that shall heighten you
again;

I am thy father; I charge thee hear me.
Arb. If it should be so,

As 'tis most false, and that I should be found
A bastard issue, the despised fruit

Of lawless lust, I should no more admire
All my wild passions! But another truth
Shall be wrung from thee: If I could come by
The spirit of pain, it should be poured on thee,
'Till thou allow'st thyself more full of lyes
Than he that teaches thee.

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Ara. I will; to what?

Arb. To such a thing, as, if it be a truth,
Think what a creature thou hast made thyself,
That didst not shame to do what I must blush
Only to ask thee. Tell me who I am,
Whose son I am, without all circumstance
Be thou as hasty as my sword will be,
If thou refusest.

Ara. Why, you are his son.

Arb. His son? Swear, swear, thou worse than
woman damn'd!

Ara. By all that's good, you are.
Arb. Then art thou all

That ever was known bad! Now is the cause
Of all my strange misfortunes come to light.
What reverence expect'st thou from a child,
To bring forth which thou hast offended Heav'n,
Thy husband, and the land? Adulterous witch!
I know now why thou wouldst have poison'd me?
Awas thy lust, which thou wouldst have forgot!
Then, wicked mother of my sins, and me,
Shew me the way to the inheritance

I have by thee, which is a spacious world
Of impious acts, that I may soon possess it.
Plagues rot thee, as thou liv’st, and such dis.

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Ara. You spend your rage and words in vain, And rail upon a guess; hear us a little.

Arb. No, I will never hear, but talk away My breath, and die.

Gob. Why, but you are no bastard.

Arb. How's that!

Ara. Nor child of mine.

Arb. Still you go on

In wonders to me.

Gob. Pray you, be more patient;

I may bring comfort to you.

Arb. I will kneel,

And hear with the obedience of a child.
Good father, speak! I do acknowledge you,
So you bring comfort.

Gob. First know, our last king, your supposed
father,

Was old and feeble when he married her,
And almost all the land, as she, past hope
Of issue from him.

Arb. Therefore she took leave

To play the whore, 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 me If ever I were whore!

Gob. Forbear these starts,

Or I will leave you wedded to despair,
As you are now: If you can find a temper,
My breath shall be a pleasant western wind
That cools and blasts not.

Arb. Bring it out, good father.
I'll lie, and listen here as reverently
As to an angel: If I breathe too loud,
Tell me; for I would be as still as night.

Gob. Our king, I say, was old, and this our

queen

Desir'd to bring an heir, but yet her husband,
She thought, was past it; and to be dishonest,
I think, she would not: If she would have been,
The truth is, she was watch'd so narrowly,
And had so slender opportunities,

She hardly could have been: But yet her cunning

Found out this way; she feign'd herself with child,

And posts were sent in haste throughout the land,

And God was humbly thank'd in ev'ry church, That so had bless'd the queen; and prayers were

made

For her safe going and delivery.

She feign'd now to grow bigger; and perceiv'd

A far more large respect from every man,
And saw her power encrease, and was resolv'd,
Since she believ'd she could not have't indeed,
At least she would be thought to have a child.

Arb. Do I not hear it well? Nay, I will make No noise at all; but pray you to the point, Quick as you can.

Gob. Now when the time was full
She should be brought to bed, I had a son
Born, which was you: This, the queen hearing
of,

Mov'd me to let her have you; and such reasons
She shewed me, as she knew well would tie
My secrecy She swore you should be king;
And, to be short, I did deliver you
Unto her, and pretended you were dead,
And in mine own house kept a funeral,
And had an empty coffin put in earth.

That night this queen feign'd hastily to labour,
And by a pair of women of her own,

Which she had charm'd, she made the world believe

She was deliver'd of you. You grew up,
As the king's son, till you were six years old;
Then did the king die, and did leave to me
Protection of the realm; and, contrary
To his own expectation, left this queen
Truly with child, indeed, of the fair princess
Panthea. Then she could have torn her hair,
And did alone to me, yet durst not speak
In publick, for she knew she should be found
A traitor; and her tale would have been thought
Madness, or any thing rather than truth.
This was the only cause why she did seek
To poison you, and I to keep you safe;
And this the reason why I sought to kindle
Some sparks of love in you to fair Panthea,
That she might get part of her right again.

Arb. And have you made an end now? Is this all?

If not, I will be still till I be aged,
Till all my hairs be silver.

Gob. This is all.

Arb. And is it true, say you too, madam ?
Ara. Yes, Heaven knows, it is most true.
Arb. Panthea, then, is not my sister.
Gob. No.

Arb. But can you prove this?
Gob. If you'll give consent,
Else who dares go about it?

Arb. Give consent?

Why, I will have 'em all that know it rack'd
To get this from 'em. All that wait without,
Come in, whate'er you be, come in, and be
Partakers of my joy! Oh, you are welcome!
Enter BESSUS, Gentlemen, MARDONIUS, and
other Attendants.

Mardonius, the best news! Nay, draw no nearer;
They all shall hear it: I am found No King.
Mar. Is that so good news?
Arh. Yes, the happiest news
That e'er was heard.

Mar. Indeed, 'twere well for you

This hope of issue made her fear'd, and brought | If you might be a little less obey'd.

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What fury's this?

Gob. Believe me, 'tis no fury;

All that he says is truth.

Mar. 'Tis very strange.

Arb. Why do you keep your hats off, gentlemen?

Is it to me! I swear it must not be;

Nay, trust 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 took
Me for your king, each man clap on his hat
At my desire.

Mar. We will. You are not found
So mean a man, but that you may be cover'd
As well as we; may you not?

Arb. Oh, not here!

You may, but not I, for here is my father In presence.

Mar. Where?

Arb. Why, there. Oh, the whole story
Would be a wilderness, to lose thyself
For ever. Oh, pardon me, dear father,
For all the idle and unreverend words
That I have spoke in idle moods to you!
I am Arbaces; we all fellow-subjects;
Nor is the queen Panthea now my sister.

Bes. Why, if you remember, fellow-subject Arbaces, I told you once she was not your sister: Ay, and she look'd nothing like you.

Arb. I think you did, good captain Bessus. Bes. Here will arise another question now amongst the sword-men, whether I be to call him to account for beating me, now he is prov'd No King.

Enter LYGONES.

Mar. Sir, here's Lygones, the agent for the Armenian state.

Arb. Where is he? I know your business, good Lygones.

Lyg. We must have our king again, and will. Arb. I knew that was your business: You shall have

Your king again; and have him so again,
As never king was had. Go, one of you,
And bid Bacurius bring Tigranes hither;
And bring the lady with him, that Panthea,
The queen Panthea, sent me word this morning
Was brave Tigranes' mistress.

Lyg. 'Tis Spaconia.
Arb. Ay, ay, Spaconia.
Lyg. She is my daughter.

[Exe. two gentlemen.

Arb. She is so. I could now tell any thing

I never heard. Your king shall go so home, As never man went.

Mar. Shall he go on's head?

Arb. He shall have chariots easier than air, That I will have invented; and ne'er think He shall pay any ransom! And thyself, That art the messenger, shall ride before him On a horse cut out of an entire diamond, That shall be made to go with golden wheels, I know not how yet.

Lyg. Why, I shall be made

For ever! They bely'd this king with us,
And said he was unkind.

Arb. And then, thy daughter;

She shall have some strange thing; we'll have the kingdom

Sold utterly, and put into a toy,
Which she shall wear about her carelessly,
Somewhere or other. See, the virtuous queen

Behold the humblest subject that you have,
Kneel here before you.

Enter PANTHEA and 1 Gentleman.

Pan. Why kneel you to me,

That am your vassal?

Arb. Grant me one request.

!

Pan. Alas! what can I grant you? what I can I will.

Arb. That you will please to marry me, If I can prove it lawful.

Pan. Is that all!

More willingly than I would draw this air. Arb. I'll kiss this hand, in earnest.

2 Gent. Sir, Tigranes

Is coming; though he made it strange, at first, To see the princess any more.

Enter TIGRANES and SPACONIA.
Arb. The queen,

Thou mean'st. Oh, my Tigranes, pardon me!
Tread on my neck; I freely offer it;
And, if thou be'st so given, take revenge,
For I have injur'd thee.

Tigr. No; I forgive,

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Cleon. The rest are making ready, sir. Lys. So let them; there is time enough. Diph. You are the brother to the king, my lord; and we'll take your word.

Lys. Strato, thou hast some skill in poetry: What think'st thou of the masque? Will it be well?

Strat. As well as masque can be.
Lys. As masque can be?

Strat. Yes; they must commend their king, and speak in praise of the assembly; bless the bride and bridegroom, in person of some god. They are tied to rules of flattery.

Cle. See, good my lord, who is returned !
Enter MELANTIUS.

Lys. Noble Melantius! the land, by me,

Welcomes thy virtues home to Rhodes.
Thou, that with blood abroad buyest us our peace!
The breath of kings is like the breath of gods;
My brother wished thee here, and thou art here.
He will be too kind, and weary thee with
Often welcomes. But the time doth give thee
A welcome above his, or all the world's.

Mel. My lord, my thanks; but these scratch'd

limbs of mine

Have spoke my love and truth unto my friends, More than my tongue e'er could. My mind's the same

It ever was to you: Where I find worth
I love the keeper till he let it go,
And then I follow it,

Diph. Hail, worthy brother!
He, that rejoices not at your return
In safety, is mine enemy for ever.

Mel. I thank thee, Diphilus. But thou art faulty;

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