Judge. Is this the way that I, and, in my person,
That justice is insulted?
Gil. Nay, my lord,
You least of all should tax a criminal
Who so punctiliously respects yourself,
And the realm’s Justice in your belly lodged,
That not to waste you in a vain pursuit,
He waits on you himself.
Judge. Impudent man!
And this before that most illustrious lady