Like forest trunk that pours its wasting heart
From every lopp�d limb.
[Theano attempts to comfort him]
Go from me, girl.
My wounded senses shrink away from life
Till gentlest touches are as brands of pain.
Dumb be my lips. I'll speak no more on earth.
Ara. Keep you that word! Thy silence is my speech!
Know, Dion, though the knowing now is naught,
Ocrastes left me ere his marriage vow