Mar.
God put into your bosome temperate thoughts,
He leave you though I feare.
Exit.
Arb.
Goe, thou art honest,
Why should the hastie errors of my youth
Be so unpardonable, to draw a sinne
Helpelesse upon me?
Enter Gobrius.
Gob.
There is the King, now it is ripe.
Arb.
Draw neere thou guiltie man,
That are the author of the loathedst crime
Five ages have brought forth, and heare me speake
Curses incurable, and all the evils
Mans bodie or his spirit can receive
Be with thee.