Helena (swaying): It is as if the earth were wind
Under my feet!
Antonio: Are all things thus become
Omen and dread to you?
Helena: O, but it is
The pillar grieving Venus leant upon
Ere to forget she leapt, and wrote,
When falls this pillar tall and proud
Let surest lovers weave their shroud.
Antonio: Mere myth!
Helena: The shroud! It coldly winds about us—coldly!
Antonio: Should a vain hap so desperately move you?
Helena: The breath and secret soul of all this night
Are burdened with foreboding! And it seems—
Antonio: You must not, Helena!
Helena: My love, my lord—
Touch me lest I forget my natural flesh
In this unnatural awe! (He takes her to him.)
Ah how thy arms
Warm the cold moan and misery of fear
Out of my veins!
Antonio: You rave, but in me stir
Again the attraction of these dim portents.
Nay, quiver not! 'tis but a passing mist,
And this that runs in us is worthless dread!