Cyp. Nay, if thou cease to speak, thou hat'st my life;
Tak'st thou delight to kill me? then forbear:
'Sfoot, I am mortal man, kill me, do, do![205]
Epire. Your best of friends, your dearest Philocles,
Usurps your bed, and makes you a cornute.
A creature uncreate in paradise,
And one that's only of a woman's making.
Cyp. Is't possible! can I give faith to this?
Epire. Nay, be but patient, smooth your brow a little,
And you shall take them, as they clip each other,
Even in their height of sin[206], then damn them both,
And let them sink before they ask God pardon,
That your revenge may stretch unto their souls.
Cyp. To be a cuckold doth exceed all grief.
Epire. To have a pleasant scoff at majesty.
Cyp. To taste the fruit forbidden from my tree!
Epire. But he shall lose his paradise for that.
Cyp. The slave will make base songs in my disgrace.
Epire. And wound your reputation in strange lands.