[While the Witch, foaming with rage and fury, draws back.]
What! know’st me not? thou scrag! thou Jezebel!
Thy lord and master? thou should’st know me well.
What hinders me, in all my strength to come
And crush you and your cat-imps ’neath my thumb?
Know’st not the scarlet-doublet, mole-eyed mother?
Bow’st not the knee before the famed cock’s feather?
Use your old eyes; behind a mask
Did I conceal my honest face?
And when I come here must I ask