My heaven and hell.—But now, behind her youth
She shrivels to a hag!—I see the truth!—
Harlot!—nay, spouse of Urience, King of Gore!—
Wanton!—nay, witch! sweet witch!—what wouldst thou more?—
Hast thou not had thy dream? and wilt thou grieve
That death so ruins it?—Thou dost perceive
How I still love thee! witness bear this field,
This field and he to whom I would not yield!—
Would thou wert here to kiss me ere I die!"—
Then anger in the good King's gloomy eye