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.