Why are you sequester'd from all your train, Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed. And wander'd hither to an obscure plot, Accompanied but with a barbarous Moor, If foul desire had not conducted you? And, being intercepted in your sport, Great reason that my noble lord be rated For sauciness. I pray you, let us hence, And let her joy her raven-colour'd love; This valley fits the purpose passing well. The king my brother shall have note of this. Ay, for these slips have made him noted long: Good king, to be so mightily abused! Why have I patience to endure all this? How now, dear sovereign, and our gracious mother! Why doth your highness look so pale and wan? Have I not reason, think you, to look pale? These two have 'ticed me hither to this place: A barren detested vale, you see it is; The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean, O'ercome with moss and baleful mistletoe: Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds, Unless the nightly owl or fatal raven: And when they show'd me this abhorred pit, They told me, here, at dead time of the night, A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes, Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins, Would make such fearful and confused cries As any mortal body hearing it Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly. No sooner had they told this hellish tale, But straight they told me they would bind me here Unto the body of a dismal yew, And leave me to this miserable death: And then they call'd me foul adulteress, Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms That ever ear did hear to such effect: And, had you not by wondrous fortune come, This vengeance on me had they executed. Revenge it, as you love your mother's life, Or be ye not henceforth call'd my children. This is a witness that I am thy son. And this for me, struck home to show my strength. Ay, come, Semiramis, nay, barbarous Tamora, For no name fits thy nature but thy own! Give me thy poniard; you shall know, my boys Your mother's hand shall right your mother's wrong. Stay, madam; here is more belongs to her; First thrash the corn, then after burn the straw: This minion stood upon her chastity, Upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty, And with that painted hope braves your mightiness: And shall she carry this unto her grave? An if she do, I would I were an eunuch. Drag hence her husband to some secret hole, And make his dead