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Robert Browning (1812–1889). A Blot in the ’Scutcheon.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.

Act IV Scene VII

All things conspire toward my satisfaction,

Madam, I’ve searched the whole apartment through.

There’s no one here; and now my ravished soul…

Softly! You are too eager in your amours;

You needn’t be so passionate. Ah ha!

My holy man! You want to put it on me!

How is your soul abandoned to temptation!

Marry my daughter, eh?—and want my wife, too?

I doubted long enough if this was earnest,

Expecting all the time the tone would change;

But now the proof’s been carried far enough;

I’m satisfied, and ask no more, for my part.

’Twas quite against my character to play

This part; but I was forced to treat you so.

What? You believe…?

Come, now, no protestations.

Get out from here, and make no fuss about it.

But my intent…

That talk is out of season.

You leave my house this instant.

You’re the one

To leave it, you who play the master here!

This house belongs to me, I’ll have you know,

And show you plainly it’s no use to turn

To these low tricks, to pick a quarrel with me,

And that you can’t insult me at your pleasure,

For I have wherewith to confound your lies,

Avenge offended Heaven, and compel

Those to repent who talk to me of leaving.