CARDINAL. Is 't possible? Can this be certain? FERDINAND. Rhubarb, O, for rhubarb To purge this choler! Here 's the cursed day To prompt my memory; and here 't shall stick Till of her bleeding heart I make a sponge To wipe it out. CARDINAL. Why do you make yourself So wild a tempest? FERDINAND. Would I could be one, That I might toss her palace 'bout her ears, Root up her goodly forests, blast her meads, And lay her general territory as waste As she hath done her honours. CARDINAL. Shall our blood, The royal blood of Arragon and Castile, Be thus attainted? FERDINAND. Apply desperate physic: We must not now use balsamum, but fire, The smarting cupping-glass, for that 's the mean To purge infected blood, such blood as hers. There is a kind of pity in mine eye,-- I 'll give it to my handkercher; and now 'tis here, I 'll bequeath this to her bastard. CARDINAL. What to do? FERDINAND. Why, to make soft lint for his mother's wounds, When I have hew'd her to pieces. CARDINAL. Curs'd creature! Unequal nature, to place women's hearts So far upon the left side![69] FERDINAND. Foolish men, That e'er will trust their honour in a bark Made of so slight weak bulrush as is woman, Apt every minute to sink it! CARDINAL. Thus ignorance, when it hath purchas'd honour, It cannot wield it. FERDINAND. Methinks I see her laughing,-- Excellent hyena! Talk to me somewhat quickly, Or my imagination will carry me To see her in the shameful act of sin. CARDINAL. With whom? FERDINAND. Happily with some strong-thigh'd bargeman, Or one o' th' wood-yard that can quoit the sledge[70] Or toss the bar, or else some lovely squire That carries coals up to her privy lodgings. CARDINAL. You fly beyond your reason. FERDINAND. Go to, mistress! 'Tis not your whore's milk that shall quench my wild-fire, But your whore's blood. CARDINAL. How idly shows this rage, which carries you, As men convey'd by witches through the air, On violent whirlwinds! This intemperate noise Fitly resembles deaf men's shrill discourse, Who talk aloud, thinking all other men To have their imperfection. FERDINAND. Have not you My palsy? CARDINAL. Yes, [but] I can be angry Without this rupture. There is not in nature A thing that makes man so deform'd, so beastly, As doth intemperate anger. Chide yourself. You have divers men who never yet express'd Their strong desire of rest but by unrest, By vexing of themselves. Come, put yourself In tune. FERDINAND. So I will only study to seem The thing I am not. I could kill her now, In you, or in myself; for I do think It is some sin in us heaven doth revenge By her.