As men report of our best picture-makers,
We love the piece we are in hand with better
Than all the excellent work we have done before.
And my son has depriv’d me of all this! Ha, my son!
I’ll be a Fury to him; like an Amazon lady,
I’d cut off this right pap that gave him suck,
To shoot him dead. I’ll no more tender him,
Than had a wolf stol’n to my teat i’ the night
And robb’d me of my milk; nay, such a creature
I should love better far. Ha, ha! what say you?