I know the way they bore him!
Her. Follow thee!
Recreant! deserter of thy house and faith!
To think true knights would follow thee again!
’Tis all some snare—away!
Aym. Some snare! Heaven! heaven!
Is my name sunk to this? Must men first crush
My soul, then spurn the ruin they have made?
—Why, let him perish!—blood for blood!—must earth
Cry out in vain? Wine, wine! we’ll revel here!