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Oh, come not near me, sir; I shall defile you.

I am that of your blood was taken from you

For your better health; look no more upon't,

But cast it to the ground regardlessly:

Let the common sewer take it from distinction.

Beneath the stars, upon yon meteor

Ever [hung] my fate, 'mongst things corruptible;

I ne'er could pluck it from him. My loathing

Was prophet to the rest but ne'er believ'd;

Mine honour fell with him, and now my life.

Alsemero, I am a stranger to your bed;

Your bed was coz'ned on the nuptial night,

For which your false bride died.

Thomas Middleton and William Rowley. The Changeling. .

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