The. Who?—O! My mother.
Oc. Fie, does she yet live?
The. O gentle gods!
Oc. All women now should die.
The. Ocrastes!
Oc. Do not stare. Thine eyes are not
The only home of agony. Farewell!
The. Farewell? No, no! [Clinging to him]
You'll tell me first! What is it?
Will you not trust me?