To chuckle at the aching misery
That eats your heart away! I come to spit
My hate upon you—If my toad’s mouth held
The venom of a toad, I would spit that!
Come—have I said enough? Then draw thy sword
And make an end of me—I am prepared!
Flor. (drawing sword). I needed no assurance, yea or nay,
That some foul planning of thy leper-heart
Had worked this devilry! Thou lovest her?
Thou lovest her? Is there no blasphemy