That still hath plaid such discords on your honour.
Mont. Perhaps tis with some proud string of my wives.
Tam. How's that, my lord?
Mont. Your tongue will still admire, [145]
Till my head be the miracle of the world.
Tam. O woe is me! She seemes to sound.
Pero. What does your lordship meane?
Madam, be comforted; my lord but tries you.
Madam! Help, good my lord, are you not mov'd?
Doe your set looks print in your words your thoughts?[150]