Above the clouds of state. 'Tis I must reign.
Then we, my queen, must see our daughter wed
To some strong noble who will prop our power.
Ocrastes' love is bound inseverably
To Dion. Keep him from Theano, sweet.
Look on them now. See how she bends to him?
Nau. Nay, she is modest, sir.
Phil. But mark! He speaks,
And crimson runs her cheek, as though his voice
Did paint it magically, which bids him fair,