Treat me not with contempt, old man. You possess strong sense. I know it by your resolute and reverend mien. You also possess sound judgment, yet I need but speak one word, and both these qualities are fled for ever.
ODOARDO.
Oh, Madam, they will have fled before you speak that word, unless you pronounce it soon. Speak, I conjure you; or it is not true that you are one of that good class of lunatics who claim our pity and respect; you are naught else than a common fool. You cannot have what you never possessed.
ORSINA.
Mark my words, then. What do you know, who fancy that you know enough? That Appiani is wounded? Wounded only? He is dead.
ODOARDO.
Dead? Dead? Woman, you abide not by your promise. You said you would rob me of my reason, but you break my heart.
ORSINA.
Thus much by the way. Now, let me proceed. The bridegroom is dead, and the bride, your daughter, worse than dead.