_Paul._ It is yours; 95 And, might we lay the old proverb to your charge, So like you, 'tis the worse. Behold, my lords, Although the print be little, the whole matter And copy of the father, eye, nose, lip; The trick of's frown; his forehead; nay, the valley, 100 The pretty dimples of his chin and cheek; his smiles; The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger: And thou, good goddess Nature, which hast made it So like to him that got it, if thou hast The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours 105 No yellow in't, lest she suspect, as he does, Her children not her husband's! _Leon._ A gross hag! And, lozel, thou art worthy to be hang'd, That wilt not stay her tongue. _Ant._ Hang all the husbands That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself 110 Hardly one subject. _Leon._ Once more, take her hence. _Paul._ A most unworthy and unnatural lord Can do no more. _Leon._ I'll ha' thee burnt. _Paul._ I care not: It is an heretic that makes the fire, Not she which burns in't. I'll not call you tyrant; 115 But this most cruel usage of your queen-- Not able to produce more accusation Than your own weak-hinged fancy--something savours Of tyranny and will ignoble make you, Yea, scandalous to the world. _Leon._ On your allegiance, 120 Out of the chamber with her! Were I a tyrant, Where were her life? she durst not call me so, If she did know me one. Away with her! _Paul._ I pray you, do not push me; I'll be gone. Look to your babe, my lord; 'tis yours: Jove send her 125 A better guiding spirit! What needs these hands? You, that are thus so tender o'er his follies, Will never do him good, not one of you. So, so: farewell; we are gone. [_Exit._ _Leon._ Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this. 130 My child? away with't! Even thou, that hast A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence And see it instantly consumed with fire; Even thou and none but thou. Take it up straight: Within this hour bring me word 'tis done, 135 And by good testimony, or I'll seize thy life, With what thou else call'st thine. If thou refuse And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so; The bastard brains with these my proper hands Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire; 140 For thou set'st on thy wife. _Ant._ I did not, sir: These lords, my noble fellows, if they please, Can clear me in't. _Lords._ We can: my royal liege, He is not guilty of her coming hither.