Deianira: But dost thou call a mistress light offense?
Of all that feeds my grief, count this the worst.
Nurse: And has thy love for great Alcides fled?
Deianira: Not fled, dear nurse, believe me; still it lies450
Securely fixed within my inmost heart.
But outraged love is poignant misery.
Nurse: By magic arts united to their prayers
Do wives full oft their wandering husbands bind.
I have myself in midst of winter's cold
Commanded trees to clothe themselves in green,