duke.
A story
At which the sad might laugh, the merry weep!
hermione.
Strange modes of pleasantry—the sad might laugh?
duke.
That his own woes were lighter.
hermione.
And yet, withal,
The merry weep?
duke.
So sad the tale—
hermione.
In troth,
Most dolorously pleasant!
duke.
I've been in love.
hermione.
A strange propensity—a punishment
Man suffers for his sins. You've been in love?
Most melancholy! How! I wot the Duchess
Believed you not?
duke.
Beatrice yet—mark me—
Most tenderly I love. Her long affection
Won my regard: but—late, another power—
It is not love, 'tis witchery, false glamour
Chaining the sense, unwilling to be held
In such deep thrall—I've seen a basilisk,
And it hath holden me within the circuit
Of its charmed eye. How counsel you? how break
From its bright glance?
hermione.
I know not where, my lord,
You're held, or how enchain'd. Knows she your love?