Atl. Why then the Prouerbe holds. Now for your sight.
Madam, Come forth, and bring your followers.
Enter all the Women.
Mis. I’de rather see so many Cockatrices.
Oh that my eyes might be for euer shut,
So that I might ne’r behold these Crocadils.
Aur. Where’s this bawling Bandog.
Omnes. Here, here, here, here.
Mis. Murder, murder, murder. I’me betraid.
I shall be torne in pieces. Murder, ho.