He is the foe 'gainst whom I must go forth.
You are to wed a lord whose might shall be
My own. To-night! Dost hear?
Ara. Ay, Dionysius.
Diony. And art not pleased? No thanks that I provide
For your forsaken state? Now, now! One word.
Stand not so fixed, as I had ordered you
To instant death.
Ara. You make me marble, sir.
Unloose my soul's locked torture with the key