Read it through once

HERMIONE. Sir, spare your threats: The bug which you would fright me with, I seek. To me can life be no commodity. The crown and comfort of my life, your favour, I do give lost, for I do feel it gone, But know not how it went. My second joy, And first-fruits of my body, from his presence I am barr’d, like one infectious. My third comfort, Starr’d most unluckily, is from my breast, (The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth) Hal’d out to murder; myself on every post Proclaim’d a strumpet; with immodest hatred The child-bed privilege denied, which ’longs To women of all fashion; lastly, hurried Here to this place, i’ th’ open air, before I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege, Tell me what blessings I have here alive, That I should fear to die. Therefore proceed. But yet hear this: mistake me not: no life, I prize it not a straw, but for mine honour, Which I would free, if I shall be condemn’d Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else But what your jealousies awake, I tell you ’Tis rigour, and not law. Your honours all, I do refer me to the oracle: Apollo be my judge!