O messenger full fill’d of drunkenness, Strong is thy breath, thy limbës falter aye, And thou betrayest allë secretness; Thy mind is lorn, 1637 thou janglest as a jay; Thy face is turned in a new array; 1638 Where drunkenness reigneth in any rout, 1639 There is no counsel hid, withoutë doubt.

O Donegild, I have no English dign 1640 Unto thy malice, and thy tyranny: And therefore to the fiend I thee resign, Let him indite of all thy treachery. Fy, mannish, 1641 fy! O nay, by God I lie; Fy, fiendlike spirit! for I dare well tell, Though thou here walk, thy spirit is in hell.