Pietro: A mischief fill thy throat, thou foul-jaw’d slave! Say thy prayers.

Men: I ha’ forgot ’em.

Pietro: Thou shalt die.

Men: So shalt thou. I am heart-mad.

Pietro: I am horn-mad.

Men: Extreme mad.

Pietro: Monstrously mad.

Men: Why?   

Pietro: Why! thou, thou hast dishonoured my bed.

Men: I! Come, come, sit; here’s my bare heart to thee,

As steady as is the centre to this glorious world:

And yet, hark, thou art a cornuto,—but by me?

Pietro: Yes, slave, by thee.

Men: Do not, do not with tart and spleenful breath

Lose him can lose thee. I offend my duke!

Bear record, O ye dumb and raw-air’d nights,

How vigilant my sleepless eyes have been   

To watch the traitor! record, thou spirit of truth,

With what debasement I ha’ thrown myself

To under offices, only to learn

The truth, the party,