Paul. Good my Liege, I come: And I beseech you heare me, who professes My selfe your loyall Seruant, your Physitian, Your most obedient Counsailor: yet that dares Lesse appeare so, in comforting your Euilles, Then such as most seeme yours. I say, I come From your good Queene
Leo. Good Queene? Paul. Good Queene (my Lord) good Queene, I say good Queene, And would by combate, make her good so, were I A man, the worst about you
Leo. Force her hence
Pau. Let him that makes but trifles of his eyes First hand me: on mine owne accord, Ile off, But first, Ile do my errand. The good Queene (For she is good) hath brought you forth a daughter, Heere 'tis. Commends it to your blessing
Leo. Out: A mankinde Witch? Hence with her, out o' dore: A most intelligencing bawd
Paul. Not so: I am as ignorant in that, as you, In so entit'ling me: and no lesse honest Then you are mad: which is enough, Ile warrant (As this world goes) to passe for honest: Leo. Traitors; Will you not push her out? Giue her the Bastard, Thou dotard, thou art woman-tyr'd: vnroosted By thy dame Partlet heere. Take vp the Bastard, Take't vp, I say: giue't to thy Croane
Paul. For euer Vnvenerable be thy hands, if thou Tak'st vp the Princesse, by that forced basenesse Which he ha's put vpon't
Leo. He dreads his Wife
Paul. So I would you did: then 'twere past all doubt Youl'd call your children, yours
Leo. A nest of Traitors
Ant. I am none, by this good light
Pau. Nor I: nor any But one that's heere: and that's himselfe: for he, The sacred Honor of himselfe, his Queenes, His hopefull Sonnes, his Babes, betrayes to Slander, Whose sting is sharper then the Swords; and will not (For as the case now stands, it is a Curse He cannot be compell'd too't) once remoue The Root of his Opinion, which is rotten, As euer Oake, or Stone was sound
Leo. A Callat Of boundlesse tongue, who late hath beat her Husband, And now bayts me: This Brat is none of mine, It is the Issue of Polixenes. Hence with it, and together with the Dam, Commit them to the fire
Paul. It is yours: And might we lay th' old Prouerb to your charge, So like you, 'tis the worse. Behold (my Lords) Although the Print be little, the whole Matter And Coppy of the Father: (Eye, Nose, Lippe, The trick of's Frowne, his Fore-head, nay, the Valley, The pretty dimples of his Chin, and Cheeke; his Smiles: The very Mold, and frame of Hand, Nayle, Finger.) And thou good Goddesse Nature, which hast made it So like to him that got it, if thou hast The ordering of the Mind too, 'mongst all Colours No Yellow in't, least she suspect, as he do's, Her Children, not her Husbands
Leo. A grosse Hagge: And Lozell, thou art worthy to be hang'd, That wilt not stay her Tongue
Antig. Hang all the Husbands That cannot doe that Feat, you'le leaue your selfe Hardly one Subiect
Leo. Once more take her hence
Paul. A most vnworthy, and vnnaturall Lord Can doe no more
Leo. Ile ha' thee burnt
Paul. I care not: It is an Heretique that makes the fire, Not she which burnes in't. Ile not call you Tyrant: But this most cruell vsage of your Queene (Not able to produce more accusation Then your owne weake-hindg'd Fancy) something sauors Of Tyrannie, and will ignoble make you, Yea, scandalous to the World
Leo. On your Allegeance, 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