A King, and No King Part 17

Not very ill.

Something unkindly she does take it Sir to have Her Husband chosen to her hands.

_Arb_.

Why _Gobrias_ let her, I must have her know, my will and not her own must govern her: what will she marry with some slave at home?

_Gob_.

 

O she is far from any stubbornness, you much mistake her, and no doubt will like where you would have her, but when you behold her, you will be loth to part with such a jewel.

_Arb_.

To part with her? why _Gobrias_, art thou mad? she is my Sister.

_Gob_.

Sir, I know she is: but it were pity to make poor our Land, with such a beauty to enrich another.

_Arb_.

Pish will she have him?

_Gob_.

I do hope she will not, I think she will Sir.

_Arb_.

Were she my Father and my Mother too, and all the names for which we think folks friends, she should be forc't to have him when I know 'tis fit: I will not hear her say she's loth.

_Gob_.

Heaven bring my purpose luckily to pa.s.s, you know 'tis just, she will not need constraint she loves you so.

_Arb_.

How does she love me, speak?

_Gob_.

She loves you more than people love their health, that live by labour; more than I could love a man that died for me, if he could live again.

_Arb_.

She is not like her mother then.

_Gob_.

O no, when you were in _Armenia_, I durst not let her know when you were hurt: For at the first on every little scratch, She kept her Chamber, wept, and could not eat, Till you were well, and many times the news Was so long coming, that before we heard She was as near her death, as you your health.

_Arb_.

Alas poor soul, but yet she must be rul'd; I know not how I shall requite her well.

I long to see her, have you sent for her, To tell her I am ready?

_Gob_.

Sir I have.

_Enter_ 1 Gent, _and_ Tigranes.

_1 Gent_.

Sir, here is the _Armenian_ King.

_Arb_.

He's welcome.

_1 Gent_.

And the Queen-mother, and the Princess wait without.

_Arb_.

Good _Gobrias_ bring 'em in.

_Tigranes_, you will think you are arriv'd In a strange Land, where Mothers cast to poyson Their only Sons; think you you shall be safe?

_Tigr_.

Too safe I am Sir.

_Enter_ Gobrias, Arane, Panthea, s.p.a.conia, Bacurius, Mardonius _and_ Bessus, _and two Gentlemen_.

_ Ara_.

As low as this I bow to you, and would As low as is my grave, to shew a mind Thankful for all your mercies.

_Arb_.

O stand up, And let me kneel, the light will be asham'd To see observance done to me by you.

_ Ara_.

You are my King.

_Arb_.

You are my Mother, rise; As far be all your faults from your own soul, As from my memory; then you shall be As white as innocence her self.