That claims my daughter for his slave?—Look at me,
And I will give her to thee.
Claudius. She is mine, then:
Do I not look at you?
Virginius. Your eye does, truly,
But not your soul.—I see it, through your eye,
Shifting and shrinking,—turning every way
To shun me. You surprise me, that your eye,
So long the bully of its master, knows not
To put a proper face upon a lie,