Gob. Sir, here’s the princess.

Arb. Leave us, then, alone;
For the main cause of her imprisonment
Must not be heard by any but herself.—

[Exit Gobrias.

Pan. Sir, does it please you I shall speak?

Arb. Please me?
Ay, more than all the art of music can,
Thy speech doth please me; for it ever sounds
As thou brought’st joyful unexpected news:
And yet it is not fit thou shouldst be heard;
I pray thee, think so.

Pan. Be it so; I will.
Am I the first that ever had a wrong
So far from being fit to have redress,
That ’twas unfit to hear it? I will back
To prison, rather than disquiet you,
And wait till it be fit.

Arb. No, do not go;
For I will hear thee with a serious thought:
I have collected all that’s man about me
Together strongly, and I am resolved
To hear thee largely: But I do beseech thee,
Do not come nearer to me; for there is
Something in that, that will undo us both.

Pan. Alas, sir, am I venom?

Arb. Yes, to me;
Though, of thyself, I think thee to be in
As equal a degree of heat or cold,
As Nature can make: Yet, as unsound men
Convert the sweetness and the nourishing’st meats
Into diseases, so shall I, distemper’d,
Do thee: I pray thee, draw no nearer to me.

Pan. 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 undo thee everlastingly,
Only to hear. Wilt thou but credit this?
By heaven, ’tis true; believe it, if thou canst.

Pan. Children and fools are very credulous,
And I am both, I think, for I believe,
If you dissemble, be it on your head!
I’ll back unto my prison. Yet, methinks,
I might be kept in some place where you are;
For in myself I find, I know not what
To call it, but it is a great desire
To see you often.

Arb. Fy, 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 endure it, sir.
Heaven keep you!

Arb. Nay, you shall hear the cause in short, Panthea;
And, when thou hear’st it, thou wilt blush for me,
And hang thy head down like a violet
Full of the morning’s dew. There is a way
To gain thy freedom; but ’tis such a one
As puts thee in worse bondage, and I know
Thou wouldst encounter fire, and make a proof
Whether the gods have care of innocence,
Rather than follow it: Know, that I have lost,
The only difference betwixt man and beast,
My reason.

Pan. Heaven forbid!

Arb. Nay, it is gone;
And I am left as far without a bound
As the wild ocean that obeys the winds;
Each sudden passion throws me where it lists,
And overwhelms all that oppose my will.
I have beheld thee with a lustful eye;
My heart is set on wickedness, to act
Such sins with thee, as I have been afraid
To think of.