Eternal waits upon her where she is:
I know she could not make a wish to change
Her state for new, and you shall see me bear
My crosses like a man; we all must die,
And she hath taught us how.

_Gob_.

Do not mistake,
And vex your self for nothing; for her death
Is a long life off, I hope: 'Tis she,
And if my speech deserve not faith, lay death
Upon me, and my latest words shall force
A credit from you.

_Arb_.

Which, good Gobrias? that Lady dost thou mean?

_Gob_.

That Lady Sir,
She is your Sister, and she is your Sister
That loves you so, 'tis she for whom I weep,
To see you use her thus.

_Arb_.

It cannot be.

_Tigr_.

Pish, this is tedious,
I cannot hold, I must present my self,
And yet the sight of my _Spaconia_
Touches me, as a sudden thunder-clap
Does one that is about to sin.

_Arb_.

Away,
No more of this; here I pronounce him Traytor,
The direct plotter of my death, that names
Or thinks her for my Sister, 'tis a lie,
The most malicious of the world, invented
To mad your King; he that will say so next,
Let him draw out his sword and sheath it here,
It is a sin fully as pardonable:
She is no kin to me, nor shall she be;
If she were ever, I create her none:
And which of you can question this? My power
Is like the Sea, that is to be obey'd,
And not disputed with: I have decreed her
As far from having part of blood with me,
As the nak'd _indians_; come and answer me,
He that is boldest now; is that my Sister?

_Mar_.

O this is fine.

_Bes_.

No marry, she is not, an't please your Majesty,
I never thought she was, she's nothing like you.

_Arb_.

No 'tis true, she is not.

_Mar_.

Thou shou'dst be hang'd.

_Pan_.

Sir, I will speak but once; by the same power
You make my blood a stranger unto yours,
You may command me dead, and so much love
A stranger may importune, pray you do;
If this request appear too much to grant,
Adopt me of some other Family,
By your unquestion'd word; else I shall live
Like sinfull issues that are left in streets
By their regardless Mothers, and no name
Will be found for me.

_Arb_.

I will hear no more,
Why should there be such musick in a voyce,
And sin for me to hear it? All the world
May take delight in this, and 'tis damnation
For me to do so: You are fair and wise
And vertuous I think, and he is blest
That