u Sir?

_Arb_.

Well, is he coming?

_Mar_.

Why Sir, are you thus? why do your hands proclaim a lawless War
against your self?

_Arb_.

Thou answerest me one question with an other, is _Gobrias_
coming?

_Mar_.

Sir he is.

_Arb_.

'Tis well, I can forbear your questions then, be gone.

_Mar_.

Sir, I have mark't.

_Arb_.

Mark less, it troubles you and me.

_Mar_.

You are more variable than you were.

_Arb_.

It may be so.

_Mar_.

To day no Hermit could be humbler than you were to us all.

_Arb_.

And what of this?

_Mar_.

And now you take new rage into your eyes, as you would look us
all out of the Land.

_Arb_.

I do confess it, will that satisfie? I prethee get thee gone.

_Mar_.

Sir, I will speak.

_Arb_.

Will ye?

_Mar_.

It is my duty. I fear you will kill your self: 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 my self!
by Heaven I will not do it yet; and when I will, I'le tell thee
then: I shall be such a creature, that thou wilt give me leave
without a word. There is a method in mans wickedness, it grows up
by degrees: I am not come so high as killing of my self, there
are a hundred thousand sins 'twixt me and it, which I must doe,
and I shall come to't at last; but take my oath not now, be
satisfied, and get thee hence.

_Mar_.

I am sorry 'tis so ill.

_Arb_.

Be sorry then, true sorrow is alone, grieve by thy
self.

_Mar_.

I pray you let me see your Sword put up before I go: I'le leave
you then.

_Arb_.

Why so? what folly is this in thee, is it not as apt to mischief
as it was before? can I not reach it thinkst thou? these are
toyes 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 fixt decrees, and hast to
make us new, for other fortunes, mine could not be worse, wilt
thou now leave me?

_Mar_.

Heaven put into your bosome temperate thoughts, I'le leave you
though I fear.

_Arb_.

Go, thou art honest, why should the hasty error of my youth be so
unpardonable to draw a sin helpless upon me?

_Enter_ Gobrias.

_Gob_.

There is the King, now it is ripe.

_Arb_.