_Mar_.

Is she dead?

_Arb_.

Alas she's not so happy, thou dost know how she hath laboured
since my Father died to take by treason hence this loathed life,
that would but be to serve her, I have pardoned, and pardoned,
and by that have made her fit to practise new sins, not repent
the old: she now had stirr'd a slave to come from thence, and
strike me here, whom Gobrias sifting out, took and condemn'd and
executed there, the carefulst servant: Heaven let me but live to
pay that man; Nature is poor to me, that will not let me have as
many deaths as are the times that he hath say'd my life, that I
might dye 'em over all for him.

_Mar_.

Sir let her bear her sins on her own head,
Vex not your self.

_Arb_.

What will the world
Conceive of me? with what unnatural sins
Will they suppose me loaden, when my life
Is sought by her that gave it to the world?
But yet he writes me comfort here, my Sister,