Choked me. I wish I had grown mad in doubts
What it behoved me do. This morn it seemed
Either I must confess to you, or die:
Now it is done, I seem the vilest worm
That crawls, to have betrayed my lady!
Tresh. No—
No, Gerard!
Ger. Let me go!
Tresh. A man, you say:
What man? Young? Not a vulgar hind? What dress?