I will not hear a word! 'Tis my defence,
Not cruelty. All honor shall be thine
Apart from me.
Ara. What honor may be mine
Apart from thee?
Dion. Nay, question not my justice!
Ara. You think me vile, my lord?
Dion. Mayhap I do!
Were there no poisons left in Sicily?
No rank, night-sweating herbs whose bane might work