Antonio: And you—this breath——?
Charles: Is—you are pale!
And press your lips from trembling!
Antonio: No—yes—well—
This ecstasy?
Charles: Is love! is love that— How?
You feign! distress and groaning tear in you!
Antonio: No. She you love——
Charles: O, Eve new-burst on Eden,
All pure with the prime beauty of God's breath,
Was not so!
Antonio: She is Helena?—the Greek?
Charles: She—Still you do not ail?—Yes, Helena,
Who—But you are not well and cannot share
This ravishment!—I will not ask it—now.
This ravishment!—Ah, she has stayed the tread
And stilled the whispering of death: has called
Echoes of youth from me! and all I feared....
I think—you are not well. Shall we go in?