Hæmon: Better beneath her dreams than under shame.
Fulvia: Your rashness cloaks itself in that excuse,
Your ruth, and your suspicion that has doomed
One innocent.
Hæmon: One innocent! His thought
Had but betrayal for her!
Fulvia: 'Tis the Greek
In you avows it, no true voice.
Hæmon: Then 'tis
My father murdered whose last moan I hear
Driven about me in this castle's gray
Cold spaces. And the dead speak not to lie.
Fulvia: No, no. You cannot brave your action with
The spur of that belief.
Hæmon: What want you of me?
Fulvia: This: ache and restlessness are on you.
Hæmon (impatiently): No.
Fulvia: And doubt begins in you that as a wolf
Will scent the wounded quarry of your conscience.