with me?

_Onae_. I have been laden with such weights of wrong
That heavier cannot presse me: hence, _Cornego_.

_Corn_. Hence _Cornego_, stay Captaine! when man and woman are put
together some egge of villany is sure to be sate upon.
[_Exit_.

_Bal_. What would you say to him should kill this man that hath you
so dishonoured?

_Onae_. Oh, I woo'd crowne him
With thanks, praise, gold, and tender of my life.

_Bal_. Shall I bee that Germane Fencer[195] and beat all the knocking
boyes before me? shall I kill him?

_Onae_. There's musick in the tongue that dares but speak it.

_Bal_. That fiddle then is in me; this arme can doo't by ponyard,
poyson, or pistoll; but shall I doo't indeed?

_Onae_. One step to humane blisse is sweet revenge.

_Bal_. Stay; what made you love him?

_Onae_. His most goodly shape
Married to royall virtues of his mind.

_Bal_. Yet now you would divorce all that goodnesse; and why? for a
little letchery of revenge? it's a lye: the Burre that stickes in your
throat is a throane: let him out of his messe of Kingdomes cut out but
one, and lay Sicilia, Arragon, Naples or any else upon your trencher,
and you'll prayse Bastard[196] for the sweetest wine in the world and
call for another quart of it. 'Tis not because the man has left you
but because you are not the woman you would be, that mads you: a
shee-cuckold is an untameable monster.

_Onae_. Monster of men thou art: thou bloudy villaine,
Traytor to him who never injur'd thee,
Dost thou professe Armes and art bound in honour
To stand up like a brazen wall to guard
Thy King and Country, and wood'st thou ruine both?

_Bal_. You spurre me on too't.

_Onae_. True;
Worse am I then the horrid'st fiend in hell
To murder him whom once I lov'd too well:
For tho I could runne mad, and teare my haire,
And kill that godlesse man that turn'd me vile;
Though I am cheated by a perjurous Prince
Who has done wickednesse at which even heaven
Shakes when the Sunne beholds it; O yet I'de rather
Ten thousand poyson'd ponyards stab'd my brest
Then one should touch his: bloudy slave! I'le play
My selfe the Hangman and will Butcher thee
If thou but prick'st his finger.

_Bal_. Saist thou me so? give me thy goll[197], thou art a noble girle:
I did play the Devils part and roare in a feigned voyce, but I am the
honestest Devill that ever spet fire. I would not drinke that infernall
draught of a kings