FEDALMA.
No!
It shall not be that you did aught alone.
For when we loved I willed to reign in you,
And I was jealous even of the day
If it could gladden you apart from me.
And so, it must be that I shared each deed
Our love was root of.
DON SILVA.
Dear! you share the woe—
Nay, the worst part of vengeance fell on you.
FEDALMA.
Vengeance! She does but sweep us with her skirts.
She takes large space, and lies a baleful light
Revolving with long years—sees children's children,
Blights them in their prime. Oh, if two lovers leane
To breathe one air and spread a pestilence,
They would but lie two livid victims dead
Amid the city of the dying. We
With our poor petty lives have strangled one
That ages watch for vainly.
DON SILVA.
Deep despair
Fills all your tones as with slow agony.
Speak words that narrow anguish to some shape:
Tell me what dread is close before you?