THE QUEEN. Must you go?
THE PRINCE. I shall remember you always.
THE QUEEN. (bitterly) I suppose that is enough. . . .
They come down the steps together.
THE PRINCE. What is that you say?
THE QUEEN. I say that it is enough that you should think of me sometimes on your long journey from the east to the west. To be remembered—that is the portion of women.
THE PRINCE. You knew what manner of man I was, and that I would not be detained. Why, if you must have the taste of kisses on your lips always, did you not turn to some man of your own land, who would not stray from your side? Why did you give your love to one you had never seen before, and will never see again? I did not ask that you love me. What you gave, I took.
THE QUEEN. I regret nothing that I have given. But I am sorry for you, because you do not understand.
THE PRINCE. It may be that I do not understand. But I know that I may not stay longer in this place. Would you ask me to do otherwise?
THE QUEEN. I would not ask you, no. If you understood, I would have no need of asking. If all things in your life have not changed colour and significance—if I have been to you but as a harlot to one of your sailors,—then leave me.