La. Alb. What, are you gone? Forgive me, Margaret.
Mar. Ah, you forget that I am suffering too.
La. Alb. You suffer? You?
Mar. You have a husband, madam.
La. Alb. I have. Let me remember him. Ha, ha!
You suffer, icicle? What do you know of pain
But as the lookers on about a pit
See one at bottom dying? As curious eyes
Regard the writhing heretic at stake?
Or say, as angels flying heavenward turn