THE FOOL. It is not the world, it is your heart that is black. And it is black with hatred. . . .
THE QUEEN. I think you understand, fool. I would set fire to this palace which the King my father built, I would burn it down tonight, save that it would not make light enough to take away the blackness from my heart.
The sailor again, staggering.
THE QUEEN. What, has the ship not gone?
THE SAILOR. Gone, and left me behind. Gone, and left me. . . .
THE FOOL. Here is still wine in the flagon.
THE SAILOR. Good. Good. Give it to me.
THE QUEEN. (to the fool) First bring it to me. (She takes off a ring, and dips it in the wine. To the fool)—I have spoken lightly of poisoning today. Now I think I will try it. I would like to see a man die. It will ease me a little. Come!
The sailor comes and takes it from her hands, while the fool stares fascinated.
THE QUEEN. How does it taste?