_Herc._ But if you should grow disquiet (as, I protest, it would make a saint blaspheme), I should be unwilling to procure your impatience. 272 _Zuc._ Yes,[182] do! Burst me! burst me! burst me with longing! _Herc._ Nay, faith, 'tis no great matter! Hark ye, you'll tell nobody? _Zuc._ Not. _Herc._ As you are noble? _Zuc._ As I am honest. _Herc._ Your lady-wife is[183] apparently with child. 280 _Zuc._ With child? _Herc._ With child. _Zuc._ Fool! _Herc._ My Don. _Zuc._ With child!--by the pleasure of generation, I proclaim I lay not with her this----Give us patience!--give us patience! _Herc._ Why? my lord, 'tis nothing to wear a forker.[184] _Zuc._ Heaven and earth! _Herc._ All things under the moon are subject to their mistress' grace. Horns! Lend me your ring, my Don--I'll put it on my finger. Now 'tis on yours again. Why is the gold now e'er the worse in lustre or fitness? 293 _Zuc._ Am I used thus? _Herc._ Ay, my lord, true. Nay, to be--(look ye, mark ye)--to be used like a dead ox--to have your own hide pluck'd on--to be drawn on with your own horn,--to have the lordship of your father, the honour of your ancestors, maugre your beard, to descend to the base lust of some groom of your stable, or the page of your chamber! 301 _Zuc._ O, Phalaris! thy bull! _Sir Amor._ Good Don, ha' patience! you are not the only cuckold! I would now be separated. _Zuc._ 'Las! that's but the least drop of the storm of my revenge! I will unlegitimate[185] the issue! What I will do shall be horrible but to think. _Herc._ But, sir---- _Zuc._ But, sir, I will do what a man of my form may do; and laugh on, laugh on, do Sir Amorous--you have a lady, too. 311 _Herod._ But, my sweet lord---- _Zuc._ Do not anger me, lest I most dreadfully curse thee, and wish thee married! O, Zuccone, spit white, spit thy gall out. The only boon I crave of Heaven is----But to have my honours inherited by a bastard! I will be most tyrannous--bloodily tyrannous in my revenge, and most terrible in my curses! Live to grow blind with lust, senseless with use, loathed after, flattered before, hated always, trusted never, abhorred ever! and last, may she live to wear a most foul smock seven weeks together, Heaven, I beseech thee! 322 [_Exit._ _Enter_ ZOYA _and_ POVEIA. _Zoy._ Is he gone?--is he blown off? Now; out upon him, insufferably jealous fool. _Don._ Lady! _Zoy._ Didst thou give him the famed report? Does he believe I am with child? Does he give faith? _Don._ In most sincerity, most sincerely.