Fulvia: I would this were undone.
Charles: Undone? Undone?
You would it were——?
Enter Helena.
Ah, Greek! Our Fulvia,
Who is as heart and health about our doors,
Has speech for you. And polities
Untended groan for me. (He goes.
Fulvia (looking sadly at her): Girl—child—
Helena: Why do
You call me so with struggle on your breast?
Fulvia: You're very fair.
Helena: And was so free I thought
The world brimmed up with my full happiness.
Fulvia: But find it is a sieve to all but grief?
Helena: Is it then grief? I have not any tears,
Yet seem girt by an emptiness that aches,
Surrounds and whispers, what I dare not think
Or, shapened, see.