What words hath pity for despair like thine?
Mon. Pity!—fond youth!—My soul disdains the grief
Which doth unbosom its deep secrecies
To ask a vain companionship of tears,
And so to be relieved!
Pro. For woes like these
There is no sympathy but vengeance.
Mon. None!
Therefore I brought you hither, that your hearts
Might catch the spirit of the scene! Look round!