Countess. To me, blood-thirsty lord;
And for that cause I train’d thee to my house.
Long time, thy shadow hath been thrall to me,
For in my gallery thy picture hangs;
But now the substance shall endure the like,
And I will chain these legs and arms of thine,
That hast by tyranny these many years
Wasted our country, slain our citizens,
And sent our sons and husbands captivate.
Tal. Ha, ha, ha!
Countess. Laughest thou, wretch? Thy mirth shall turn to moan.
Tal. I laugh to see your ladyship so fond
To think that you have aught but Talbot’s shadow
Whereon to practice your severity.
Countess. Why, art not thou the man?
Tal. I am indeed.
Countess. Then have I substance too.
Tal. No, no, I am but shadow of myself.
You are deceiv’d, my substance is not here.
For what you see is but the smallest part
And least proportion of humanity.
I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here,
It is of such a spacious, lofty pitch,
Your roof were not sufficient to contain’t.
Countess. This is a riddling merchant for the nonce;
He will be here, and yet he is not here.
How can these contrarieties agree?
Tal. That will I show you presently.