Rank of gross diet, shall we be enclouded,
And forced to drink their vapour.
Iras.The gods forbid!
Cle. Nay, ’tis most certain, Iras: saucy lictors
Will catch at us, like strumpets; and scald rhymers
Ballad us out of tune.
(V. ii. 207.)
Such thoughts expel once for all her mutability and flightiness:
My resolution’s placed and I have nothing
Of woman in me: now from head to foot