Oct.O, ’tis the worst.
Here as I sat this morning strode he in,
More fired with rage than ever I have seen him,
More like his wicked mother, when her fury
Has made me tremble. All he said I heard not,
But this, that I, his wife, had turned against him
To plot with thee, and led thee on to boast
That being of age thou wert the rightful heir,
And more: what is his meaning?
Br.’Tis his spite