If thou dar’st consent to this,
Which, I beseech thee, do not, thou may’st gain
Thy liberty, and yield me a content;
If not, thy dwelling must be dark and close,
Where I may never see thee: For Heaven knows,
That laid this punishment upon my pride,
Thy sight at some time will enforce my madness
To make a start e’en to thy ravishing.
Now spit upon me, and call all reproaches
Thou can’st devise together, and at once
Hurl ’em against me; for I am a sickness
As killing as the plague, ready to seize thee.

Pan. Far be it from me to revile the king!
But it is true, that I shall rather choose
To search out death, that else would search out me,
And in a grave sleep with my innocence,
Than welcome such a sin. It is my fate;
To these cross accidents I was ordain’d,
And must have patience; and, but that my eyes
Have more of woman in ’em than my heart,
I would not weep. Peace enter you again!

Arb. Farewell; and, good Panthea, pray for me,
(Thy prayers are pure) that I may find a death,
However soon, before my passions grow,
That they forget what I desire is sin;
For thither they are tending: If that happen,
Then I shall force thee, though thou wert a virgin
By vow to Heaven, and shall pull a heap
Of strange, yet uninvented, sin upon me.

Pan. Sir, I will pray for you! yet you shall know
It is a sullen fate that governs us:
For I could wish, as heartily as you,
I were no sister to you; I should then
Embrace your lawful love, sooner than health.

Arb. Couldst thou affect me then?

Pan. So perfectly,
That, as it is, I ne’er shall sway my heart
To like another.

Arb. Then I curse my birth!
Must this be added to my miseries,
That thou art willing too? Is there no stop
To our full happiness, but these mere sounds,
Brother and sister?

Pan. There is nothing else:
But these, alas! will separate us more
Than twenty worlds betwixt us.

Arb. I have lived
To conquer men, and now am overthrown
Only by words, brother and sister. Where
Have those words dwelling? I will find ’em out,
And utterly destroy ’em; but they are
Not to be grasp’d: Let them be men or beasts,
And I will cut ’em from the earth; or towns,
And I will raze ’em, and then blow ’em up:
Let ’em be seas, and I will drink ’em off,
And yet have unquench’d fire left in my breast:
Let ’em be anything but merely voice.

Pan. But ’tis not in the power of any force,
Or policy, to conquer them.

Arb. Panthea,
What shall we do? Shall we stand firmly here,
And gaze our eyes out?

Pan. ’Would I could do so!
But I shall weep out mine.

Arb. Accursed man,
Thou bought’st thy reason at too dear a rate;
For thou hast all thy actions bounded in
With curious rules, when every beast is free:
What is there that acknowledges a kindred,
But wretched man? Who ever saw the bull
Fearfully leave the heifer that he liked,
Because they had one dam?

Pan. Sir, I disturb you
And myself too; ’twere better I were gone.

Arb. I will not be so foolish as I was;
Stay, we will love just as becomes our births,
No otherwise: Brothers and sisters may
Walk hand in hand together; so shall we.
Come nearer: Is there any hurt in this?

Pan. I hope not.

Arb. ’Faith, there is none at all:
And tell me truly now, is there not one
You love above me?

Pan. No, by Heaven.

Arb. Why, yet
You sent unto Tigranes, sister.