And trick of walk, and way of sudden speech,
Else I'd suspect a cuckoo in the nest,
For all your dainty strictures and high head!
La. Alb. For Christ's sake, Albemarle——
Alb. Ay, had he not
My very shoulder hitch and swelling neck
This night I'd drag him to the eastern tower
And hurl him to the Thames!
La. Alb. My God!
Alb. For you