Aquil. See you this, sir? [Draws a dagger.
Ant. O laud, a dagger! O laud! it is naturally my aversion, I cannot endure the sight on't; hide it, for Heaven's sake, I cannot look that way till it be gone—hide it, hide it, oh, oh, hide it!
Aquil. Yes, in your heart I'll hide it.
Ant. My heart! what, hide a dagger in my heart's blood?
Aquil. Yes, in thy heart, thy throat, thou pampered devil;
Thou'st helped to spoil my peace, and I'll have vengeance
On thy cursed life, for all the bloody Senate,
The perjured faithless Senate. Where's my lord,
My happiness, my love, my god, my hero,
Doomed by thy accursed tongue, amongst the rest,
To a shameful rack? By all the rage that's in me,
I'll be whole years in murdering thee.
Ant. Why, Nacky, wherefore so passionate? what have I done? what's the matter, my dear Nacky? Am not I thy love, thy happiness, thy lord, thy hero, thy senator, and every thing in the world, Nacky?
Aquil. Thou! think'st thou, thou art fit to met my joys; To bear the eager clasps of my embraces? Give me my Pierre, or—
Ant. Why, he's to be hanged, little Nacky; trussed up for treason, and so forth, child.
Aquil. Thou liest; stop down thy throat that hellish sentence,
Or 'tis thy last: swear that my love shall live,
Or thou art dead.
Ant. Ah!