Now I must go. Good brother, fare you well.
You've given me comfort. [Kisses him]
Hub. Farewell, Eleanor.
[Exit lady Albemarle]
Art gone, my sister, and no word of love
For one who looks on death? It is the fear
That keeps so constant with her makes her hard
And unlike woman—unlike Margaret.
... Last night the king was with her—and she swooned.
But not for him. By Heaven, 'twas not for him!