Gob.

  Now is the time, heare me but speake.

Arb.

  No, yet I will be farre more mercifull
  Then thou wert to me; thou didst steale into me,
  And never gavest me warning:  so much time
  As I give thee now, had prevented thee
  For ever.  Notwithstanding all thy sinnes,
  If thou hast hope, that there is yet a prayer
  To save thee, turne, and speake it to your selfe.

Gob.

  Sir, you shall know your sinnes before you doe um
  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 it for a lie
  Made out of feare to save thy stained life: 
  The verie reverence of the word comes crosse me,
  And ties mine arme downe.

Gob.

  I will tell you that shall heighten you againe, I am thy
  Father, I charge thee heare me.

Arb.

  If it should be so,
  As tis most false, and that I should be found
  A bastard issue, the dispised fruite
  Of lawlesse lust, I should no more admire
  All my wilde passions:  but another truth
  Shall be wrung from thee:  If I could come by
  The spirit of paine, it should be powr’d on thee,
  Till thou allowest thy selfe more full of lies
  Then he that teaches thee.

  Enter Arane.

Arane.

  Turne thee about,
  I come to speake to thee thou wicked man,
  Heare me thou Tyrant.

Arb.

  I will turne to thee,
  Heare me thou Strumpet:  I have blotted out
  The name of mother, as thou hast thy shame.

Ara.

  My shame, thou hast lesse shame then anything: 
  Why dost thou keepe my daughter in a prison? 
  Why dost thou call her Sister, and doe this?

Arb.

  Cease thou strange impudence, and answere quickly,
  If thou contemn’st me, this will aske an answere,
  And have it.

Ara.

  Helpe me gentle Gobrius.

Arb.

  Guilt dare not helpe guilt, though they grow together
  In doing ill, yet at the punishment
  They sever, and each flies the noyse of other,
  Thinke not of helpe, answere.

Ara.

  I will, to what?

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.