Hæmon: Still must it be this tenderness lives false
Upon your lips.
Charles: "Must," say you, "must," yet stand——
Hæmon: Then shall he rest—lie easy down and rest In treachery?
Charles: He——?
Hæmon: Yes.
Charles: You mean——?
Hæmon: Yes!—yes!
Charles: Antonio?
Hæmon: Is it not open?
Charles (confusedly): No:
Glooms start around me, glooms that seethe and cling.