Poe. What, my beautiful earth-bird?
Vir. You will take your supper now?
Poe. (Impatiently) No, no! Is there any wine in the house?
Vir. Yes, love, but—
Poe. I must have it! Quick! I shall faint.
Vir. (Rising) No, Edgar. It is food you need.
Poe. (Rising) Where is it?
Vir. O, my dearest!
Poe. Tell me, Virginia! (Goes toward a closet)
Vir. (Getting before him) If you were reaching for a cup of poison, Edgar, I would risk my life, ay, risk your love, to dash it from you. And wine is your poison. I can not let you drink death.