Beckoning him. Alas! his errant brain
Had clothed me, too, with grace that I had not,
And then misjudged me. Yea, I know the world
Imputes to me adultery and lust;
There is a doom on queens as well, it seems,
To have each action weighed by vulgar minds,
Criticized by the multitude; their names,
Toys, with which fools have grown familiar:
Yet who would waste denial on this mob
Of idle chatterers whose souls are slime.