Arb. Thou art not train’d in sin,
It seems, Mardonius: kill myself! by Heaven,
I will not do it yet; and, when I will,
I’ll tell thee, then I shall be such a creature
That thou wilt give me leave without a word.
There is a method in man’s wickedness;
It grows up by degrees: I am not come
So high as killing of myself; there are
A hundred thousand sins ’twixt me and it,
Which I must do; and I shall come to’t at last,
But, take my oath, not now. Be satisfied,
And get thee hence.

Mar. I am sorry ’tis so ill.

Arb. Be sorry, then:
True sorrow is alone; grieve by thyself.

Mar. I pray you let me see your sword put up
Before I go: I’ll leave you then.

Arb. [Puts up.] Why, so.
What folly is this in thee? is it not
As apt to mischief as it was before?
Can I not reach it, think’st thou? These are toys
For children to be pleased with, and not men.
Now I am safe, you think: I would the book
Of Fate were here: my sword is not so sure
But I would get it out, and mangle that,
That all the destinies should quite forget
Their fix’d decrees, and haste to make us new,
For other fortunes; mine could not be worse.
Wilt thou now leave me?

Mar. Heaven put into your bosom temperate thoughts!
I’ll leave you, though I fear.

[Exit Mardonius.

Arb. Go; thou art honest.
Why should the hasty errors of my youth
Be so unpardonable to draw a sin,
Helpless, upon me?

Enter GOBRIAS.

Gob. There is the king;
Now it is ripe.

Arb. Draw near, thou guilty man,
That art the author of the loathed’st crime
Five ages have brought forth, and hear me speak.
Curses incurable, and all the evils
Man’s body or his spirit can receive,
Be with thee!

Gob. Why, sir, do you curse me thus?

Arb. Why do I curse thee? If there be a man
Subtle in curses, that exceeds the rest,
His worst wish on thee! Thou hast broke my heart.

Gob. How, sir! Have I preserved you, from a child,
From all the arrows malice or ambition
Could shoot at you, and have I this for pay?

Arb. ’Tis true, thou didst preserve me, and in that
Wert crueller than hardened murderers
Of infants and their mothers! Thou didst save me,
Only till thou hadst studied out a way
How to destroy me cunningly thyself:
This was a curious way of torturing.

Gob. What do you mean?

Arb. Thou know’st the evils thou hast done to me!
Dost thou remember all those witching letters
Thou sent’st unto me to Armenia,
Fill’d with the praise of my beloved sister,
Where thou extol’dst her beauty? What had I
To do with that? what could her beauty be
To me? And thou didst write how well she loved me!
Dost thou remember this? so that I doted
Something before I saw her.

Gob. This is true.

Arb. Is it? and, when I was return’d, thou know’st,
Thou didst pursue it, till thou wound’st me in
To such a strange and unbelieved affection,
As good men cannot think on.