Turne thee about,
I come to speake to thee thou wicked man,
Heare me thou Tyrant.
Arb.
I will turne to thee,
Heare me thou Strumpet: I have blotted out
The name of mother, as thou hast thy shame.
Ara.
My shame, thou hast lesse shame then anything:
Why dost thou keepe my daughter in a prison?
Why dost thou call her Sister, and doe this?
Arb.
Cease thou strange impudence, and answere quickly,
If thou contemn'st me, this will aske an answere,
And have it.
Ara.
Helpe me gentle Gobrius.
Arb.