Leon. He dreads his wife.
80
Paul. So I would you did; then 'twere past all doubt
You'ld call your children yours.
Leon. A nest of traitors!
Ant. I am none, by this good light.
Paul. Nor I; nor any
But one that's here, and that's himself; for he
The sacred honour of himself, his queen's,
His hopeful son's, [his babe's], betrays to slander,