The. Who, who could speak?
Now swirling harpies pluck away my soul,
And leave me here a shell that yet can breathe!
Phil. Ah, you shall breathe and live for me—for me!
The. O lust, whose sovereign heel treads life
As destiny had given bond and stamp for 't!
Phil. Ay, my desire would charter hell for breath
And blow her fires to desolate the world
Ere lose thee now!
[Enter a messenger from the bridge road]x