C. Fred. I say the word: do it.
Scud. You, my lord's fine fool!
Abra. Ay, he, sir?
Scud. No! nor you, my lord's fool's fool.
Sir Inn. 'Ware, boy: come back.
L. Nin. Come back, I say, Sir Abraham.
Strange. 'Tis such a forward child.
[Intrant Templum.[29]
Scud. My passion and my cause of griefs so great,
That it hath drown'd all worthy parts in me;
As drink makes virtue useless in a man,
And with too much kills natural heat in him,
Or else I could not stand thus coldly tame,
And see them enter, but with my drawn sword
Should hale her by the hair unto the altar.
And sacrifice her heart to wronged love.
[Aside.
Kath. On my life, it is so.[30]