Nor helped so fair a woe to death. Yet you——
Dion. O, she is pure, but not to me! 'Tis stamped
Upon my soul that she is dark to me
Though fair to Heaven!
The. Hear her, sir. She took
No vows. Her lips were dumb——
Dion. O, vows! You speak
Of words?
The. But——
Dion. Silence, niece!