Abd. To shew you, Madam, I had rather live Wrong’d and contemn’d by Philip, Than have your dearer Name made infamous.
Qu. Heavens! dost thou mock my Rage? can any Sin
I could commit, undo my Honour more
Than his late Insolence?
Oh, name me something may revenge that Shame:
I wou’d encounter killing Plagues, or Fire,
To meet it—Come, oh quickly give me ease.
Abd. I dare no more reveal the guilty Secret, Than you dare execute it when ‘tis told.
Qu. How little I am understood by thee— Come, tell me instantly, for I grow impatient; You shall obey me—nay, I do command you.
Abd. Durst you proclaim—Philip a Bastard, Madam?
Qu. Hah! proclaim my self—what he wou’d have me thought! What mean’st thou?—
Abd. Instruct you in the way to your Revenge.
Qu. Upon my self thou meanest—
Abd. No—
He’s now fled to th’ Camp, where he’ll be fortify’d
Beyond our Power to hurt, but by this means;
Which takes away his Hopes of being a King,
(For he’d no other Aim in taking Arms)
And leaves him open to the People’s Scorn;
Whom own’d as King, Numbers wou’d assist him,
And then our Lives he may dispose,
As he has done our Honours.
Qu. There’s Reason in thy Words: but oh my Fame!