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 Fabiani.Madame—

The Queen.That is what she is! And hark ye, while I tell you what you are. You are a soulless, heartless, witless creature! you are a caitiff and a villain! you are—Oh! gentlemen, you need not stand aside. It matters not to me that you should hear what I say to this man! Methinks I have not lowered my voice.—Fabiano, you are a villain, a traitor to me, a dastard to her, a false-tongued varlet, the vilest, the most base of men! Nathless 'tis true that I have made you Earl of Clanbrassil, Baron Dinasmonddy—and what more? Baron Dartmouth of Devonshire. 'Twas because I was mad! I ask your pardon, my lords, for having forced you to touch elbows with this man. You, a knight! you, a gentleman! you, a nobleman! In Heaven's name, compare yourself to these gentlemen, knave. Look about you—noblemen all! Bridges, Baron Chandos; Seymour, Duke of Somerset, and the Stanleys, who have been Earls of Derby since fourteen hundred eighty-five! The Clintons, too, who have been Barons Clinton since twelve hundred ninety-eight! Do you think, perchance, that you resemble them? You say that you're akin to the Spanish family of Peñalver, but 'tis not true; you are a base-born Italian—nothing, less than nothing! son of a cobbler of the village of Larino!—Yes, gentlemen, a cobbler's son. I knew it, and I said it not, and I concealed it, and I pretended to believe this man when he prated of his nobility. For so are we made, we women. Would God that there were women here—'twould be a lesson to them all. The villain! the villain! He deceives one woman and denies the other. Infamous! Ay, of a surety you are an infamous knave!—How now! While I have