Mar. If once 'twere true—if once I loved this world—
Thy bitter words have sucked desire to live
From all my senses. As a god I held thee,
Now mocking gods bid me look on whilst thou
Deport'st thyself 'neath mortal. Sir, what plague
Hast met? What conjuration of the skies
Disfigures thee?
Kent. The same that made thyself
A woman. Back unto your world!
Mar. O, true