Curse on the marriage chain!—the clog, a wife,
Who still will force and pall us with the joy,
Tho' pow'r is wanting, and the will is cloy'd,
Still urge the debt when Nothing's left to pay.
Queen.
Ha! dost thou own thy crime, nor feel the glow
Of conscious shame?
King.
Why should I blush, if heav'n
Has made me as I am, and gave me passions?
Blest only in variety, then blame
The Gods, who form'd my nature thus, not me.
Queen.
Oh! Traitor! Villain!
King.
Hence—away—
No more I'll wage a woman's war with words.
[Exit.