Sir, this is that I would: I am of late
Shut from the world, and why it should be thus,
Is all I wish to know.
Arb.
Why credit me Panthea,
Credit me that am thy brother,
Thy loving brother, that there is a cause
Sufficient, yet unfit for thee to know,
That might undoe thee everlastingly,
Only to hear, wilt thou but credit this?
By Heaven 'tis true, believe it if thou canst.
Pan.
Children and fools are ever credulous,
And I am both, I think, for I believe;
If you dissemble, be it on your head;
I'le back unto my prison: yet me-thinks
I might be kept in some place where you are;
For in my self, I find I know not what
To call it, but it is a great desire
To see you often.
Arb.
Fie, you come in a step, what do you mean?
Dear sister, do not so: Alas Panthea,
Where I am would you be? Why that's the cause
You are imprison'd, that you may not be
Where I am.
Pan.
Then I must indure it Sir, Heaven keep you.
Arb.