Charles: You baffle and bewilder.
Fulvia: Well.
Charles: You—?—Yes!
I am beat off by it.
Fulvia: Ten years of shelter
Have you held over me.
Charles: Ten years——
Fulvia: Whose days,
Whose every moment else had borne a torture.
Charles: Now——?
Fulvia: I, perhaps, must go.
Charles: Must?—Still I grope.
Fulvia: Must go! Though in this castle's aged calm
And melancholy dusk no shadow is
Or niche but may remember prayer for thee.