ANGELO
Who will believe thee, Isabel? My unsoil’d name, th’austereness of my life, My vouch against you, and my place i’th’ state, Will so your accusation overweigh That you shall stifle in your own report And smell of calumny. I have begun, And now I give my sensual race the rein. Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite, Lay by all nicety and prolixious…
