And not my lord: I cross and thwart him still.
LOCRINE.
Thy grief it is that wounds me—not thy will.
GUENDOLEN.
Wound? if I would, could I forsooth wound thee?
LOCRINE.
I think thou wouldst not, though thine hands were free.
GUENDOLEN.
These hands, now bound in wedlock fast to thine?
LOCRINE.