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.