Thou knowst 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’st 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 knowst thou didst pursue it,
  till thou woundst me into 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 to lie, as I love Heaven and honesty, I did, it was
  my meaning.

Arb.

  Be thine own sad judge, a further condemnation will not need,
  prepare thy self to dy.

Gob.

  Why Sir to dy?

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’st me in, but I can take revenge, that’s all the sweetness left for me.

Gob.

  Now is the time, hear me but speak.

Arb.

No, yet I will be far more mercifull than thou wert to me; thou didst steal into me and never gav’st me warning:  so much time as I give thee now, had prevented thee for ever.  Notwithstanding all thy sins, if thou hast hope, that there is yet a prayer to save thee, turn and speak it to thy self.

Gob.

  Sir, you shall know your sins before you do’em, if you kill me.

Arb.

  I will not stay then.

Gob.

  Know you kill your Father.

Arb.

  How?

Gob.

  You kill your Father.

Arb.

  My Father? though I know’t for a lie, made out of fear to save
  thy stained life; the very reverence 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 thy self more full of lies than he that teaches thee.

  Enter Arane.

Ara.

  Turn thee about, I come to speak to thee thou wicked man, hear me
  thou tyrant.