Scud. That letter, madam, tells you.
Bel. Letter? ha!
What, dost thou mock me? here is nothing writ.
Scud. Can you read anything, then, in this face?
Bel. O basilisk! remove thee from my sight,
Or thy heart's blood shall pay thy rash attempt!
Ho! who attends us there?
Scud. Stir not a foot,
And stop your clamorous acclamations,
Or, by the bitterness of my fresh wrongs,
I'll send your ladyship to the devil quick!
I know the hazard I do undergo,
And whatsoe'er after becomes of me,
I'll make you sure first. I am come to speak—
And speak I will freely—and to bring back
Your letters and such things you sent; and then
I'll ne'er see those deceiving eyes again.
Bel. O, I am sick of my corruption!
For God's sake, do not speak a word more to me.
Scud. Not speak? yes, woman, I will roar aloud:
Call thee the falsest fair that ever breath'd;
Tell thee, that in this marriage thou hast drown'd
All virtue left to credit thy weak sex,
Which being (as 'twere) committed to thy trust,
Thou traitorously hast betray'd it thus!
Did I entice, or ever send thee gifts,
To allure thee to reflect a beam on me?
Nay, didst not thou thyself send and invent,
Past human wit, our means of intercourse?
Why dost thou then prove base unto thyself,
Perjur'd and impious? know, the good thou hast lost
In my opinion, doth outvalue far
The airy honours thou art married to.
Bel. O, peace! for you speak sharpness to my soul,
More torturous than hell's plagues to the damn'd.
For love's sake, hear me speak!
Scud. For love's sake? no:
Love is my surfeit, and is turn'd in me
To a disease.
Bel. Tyrant! my knees shall beg,
Till they get liberty for my tongue to speak,
Drown'd, almost, in the rivers of mine eyes.