Act III

SCENE I.—Iberia. A Room in the Palace.

Enter ARBACES and GOBRIAS.

Arb. My sister take it ill?

Gob. Not very ill:
Something unkindly she does take it, sir,
To have her husband chosen to her hands.

Arb. Why, Gobrias, let her: I must have her know,
My will, and not her own, must govern her.
What, will she marry with some slave at home?

Gob. Oh, she is far from any stubbornness;
You much mistake her; and, no doubt, will like
Where you will have her. But, when you behold her,
You will be loth to part with such a jewel.

Arb. To part with her? Why, Gobrias, art thou mad?
She is my sister.

Gob. Sir, I know she is:
But it were a pity to make poor our land,
With such a beauty to enrich another.

Arb. Pish! Will she have him?

Gob. I do hope she will not.—

[Aside.

Arb. Were she my father, and my mother too,
And all the names for which we think folks friends,
She should be forced to have him, when I know
’Tis fit. I will not hear her say, she’s loth.

Gob. Heaven, bring my purpose luckily to pass!

[Aside.

Arb. How does she love me? Speak.

Gob. She loves you more than people love their health,
That live by labour; more than I could love
A man that died for me, if he could live
Again.

Arb. She is not like her mother, then.

Gob. Oh, no! When you were in Armenia,
I durst not let her know when you were hurt:
For at the first, on every little scratch,
She kept her chamber, wept, and could not eat
Till you were well; and many times the news
Was so long coming, that, before we heard,
She was as near her death, as you your health.

Arb. Alas, poor soul! But yet she must be ruled.
I know not how I shall requite her well.
I long to see her: Have you sent for her,
To tell her I am ready?

Gob. Sir, I have.

Enter 1 Gentleman and TIGRANES.

Arb. He’s welcome. 1 Gent. And the queen-mother and the princess wait
Without.