Bethlen. What, beat a woman!
Laska (to Glycine). O you cockatrice!
Bethlen. Unmanly dastard, hold!
Laska. Do you chance to know [235]
Who—I—am, Sir?—('Sdeath! how black he looks!)
Bethlen. I have started many strange beasts in my time,
But none less like a man, than this before me
That lifts his hand against a timid female.
Laska. Bold youth! she's mine.
Glycine. No, not my master yet, [240]
But only is to be; and all, because
Two years ago my lady asked me, and
I promised her, not him; and if she'll let me,
I'll hate you, my lord's steward.
Bethlen. Hush, Glycine!
Glycine. Yes, I do, Bethlen; for he just now brought [245]
False witnesses to swear away your life:
Your life, and old Bathory's too.