May hope to be thy shadowy parallel,
And where we go, in any court of air
Or cloud or heaven, still must thou be the one
Excelling star.
Kent. [Clasping her] Heart of the sun, beat here!
O, thy immortal fire will make Death warm
Ere he can make thee cold.
[The turnkey opens door at end of corridor]
Mar. My life, my soul!
Kent. O, God! Celestial marshaller of chance