That, where thou fear'st, are dreadfull, and his face[190]
Turn'd in flight from thee that had thee in chace!
Come, bring me to him. I will tell the serpent
Even to his venom'd teeth (from whose curst seed
A pitcht field starts up 'twixt my lord and me)
That his throat lies, and he shall curse his fingers195
For being so govern'd by his filthy soule.
Mont. I know not if himselfe will vaunt t'have beene
The princely author of the slavish sinne,
Or any other; he would have resolv'd me,