I'll tear the scoundrel into twenty pieces.
Queen. Oh, no! prevent the match, but hurt him not;
For, though I would not have him have my daughter,
Yet can we kill the man that killed the giants?
Griz. I tell you, madam, it was all a trick;
He made the giants first, and then he killed them;
As fox-hunters bring foxes to the wood,
And then with hounds they drive them out again.
Queen. How! have you seen no giants? Are there not
Now in the yard ten thousand proper giants?