Arth. I cannot brook this treatment—
Flor. I do not wish you—
Arth. Heartless!
Flor. Certainly,
A heart is troublesome; it oft makes fools
Of those that own it—
I should hate a man
Made me ridiculous.
Arth. Farewell!
Flor. Farewell!
[FLORENCE runs to the LADY ELIZABETH.]
Arth. [Joining the group.] What is the matter?
One of the Domestics. Sir, the king is sentenc'd To death; it is too much for her—
Arth. Alas! Is it even so?—