THE PRINCE. What do you mean?
THE QUEEN. I mean that I have a new appetite, the appetite for death. I have held myself too lightly, I have gone too willingly to the arms of a chance lover. Now there must be blood to sweeten the kisses.
THE PRINCE. Do you wish this fellow killed?
THE QUEEN. Or you. It makes no difference—not the least. What are my kisses, that I should be careful to whom they go?
THE PRINCE. You speak strangely, and I hardly know you. I have come back as a lover and not as a butcher.
THE QUEEN. My whim has changed—I am in the mood for butchers, now.
THE PRINCE. Say but one word to show that you still love me!
THE QUEEN. I have no word to say.
THE PRINCE. Doubt makes my sword heavy. . . .
THE FOOL. And have you nothing to say to me?