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(Going up to Romiero.) Thou art bereft of reason. In the dark

A gliding form is seen, nor tall, nor short,

Nor having any mark by which to prove
It is or is not any woman breathing;
And thou in thy diseased conceit hast shaped——

ROMIERO.

Thou speak'st in ignorance: I have good cause—

Cause which thou know'st not of. I'll tell thee more
When I have breath to speak.——
My dame, my wife, she whom I made my wife,
Hath secret myst'ries—hath a beldame Nurse—
Hath one conceal'd to whom she sends—O shame!—
Outrageous, frontless shame! the very picture
Which I have gazed upon a thousand times,
Tears in my eyes, and blessings on my lips.
How little thought I once—vain, vain remembrance!
It is a thing most strange if she be honest.

GUZMAN.

How strange?—that thou thyself shouldst be deceived

As many men have been, which is a marvel
Of daily note, amongst the sons of Adam.

ROMIERO.

Deceived! be there witch-powder in mine eyes,

To make that seen which is not; in mine ears,