From thine own sister’s shame? What should I think?
Heaven [shield] my mother play’d my father fair!
For such a warped slip of wilderness
140 Ne’er issued from his blood. Take my defiance!
Die, perish! Might [but my] bending down
Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed:
I’ll pray a thousand prayers for thy death,
No word to save thee.
Claud. [Nay], hear me, Isabel.
145 Isab.