Bardas: You are mortal?
Antonio (groaning with impatience): O
This utter superstition! (Pricking his arm.) Is it not blood?
Bardas: You live! and live? but let her think your death!
You let her! still devising for yourself
Safety and preservation!
Antonio: She's not safe?
Bardas: O, safe—if she had shrift!
Charles (hoarsely): The dead are so!
Bardas: Ay, so.
Antonio: And none above the grave?—no answer?
Bardas: She came unto the cliff amid her tears—
Her being all into one want was fused,
You down the wave to follow.
Antonio: But you grasped——?
You held her?