Gob. Forbear these starts,
Or I will leave you wedded to despair,
As you are now: If you can find a temper,
My breath shall be a pleasant western wind,
That cools and blasts not.

Arb. Bring it out, good father.

[Lies down.

Gob. Our king, I say, was old, and this our queen
Desired to bring an heir, but her yet husband,
She thought, was past it; and to be dishonest,
I think, she would not: If she would have been,
The truth is, she was watch’d so narrowly,
And had so slender opportunities,
She hardly could have been: But yet her cunning
Found out this way; she feign’d herself with child,
And posts were sent in haste throughout the land,
And God was humbly thank’d in every church,
That so had bless’d the queen; and prayers were made
For her safe going and delivery.
She feign’d now to grow bigger; and perceived
This hope of issue made her fear’d, and brought
A far more large respect from every man,
And saw her power increase, and was resolved,
Since she believed she could not have’t indeed,
At least she would be thought to have a child.

Arb. Do I not hear it well? Nay, I will make
No noise at all; but, pray you, to the point,
Quick as you can!

Gob. Now when the time was full
She should be brought to bed, I had a son
Born, which was you: This, the queen hearing of,
Moved me to let her have you; and such reasons
She showed me, as she knew well would tie
My secrecy: She swore you should be king;
And, to be short, I did deliver you
Unto her, and pretended you were dead,
And in mine own house kept a funeral,
And had an empty coffin put in earth.
That night this queen feign’d hastily to labour,
And by a pair of women of her own,
Which she had charm’d, she made the world believe
She was deliver’d of you. You grew up,
As the king’s son, till you were six years old;
Then did the king die, and did leave to me
Protection of the realm; and, contrary
To his own expectation, left this queen
Truly with child, indeed, of the fair princess
Panthea. Then she could have torn her hair,
And did alone to me, yet durst not speak
In public, for she knew she should be found
A traitor; and her tale would have been thought
Madness, or anything rather than truth.
This was the only cause why she did seek
To poison you, and I to keep you safe;
And this the reason why I sought to kindle
Some sparks of love in you to fair Panthea,
That she might get part of her right again.

Arb. And have you made an end now? Is this all?
If not, I will be still till I be aged,
Till all my hairs be silver.

Gob. This is all.

Arb. And is it true, say you too, madam?

Ara. Yes.
Heaven knows, it is most true.

Arb. Panthea, then, is not my sister?

Gob. No.

Arb. But can you prove this?

Gob. If you will give consent,
Else who dares go about it?

Arb. Give consent?
Why, I will have ’em all that know it rack’d
To get this from ’em.—All that wait without,
Come in, whate’er you be, come in, and be
Partakers of my joy!—Oh, you are welcome!