Guido
O God! you have not drunk it, Beatrice?
Tell me you have not?
Duchess
Were I to deny it,
There is a fire eating at my heart
Which would find utterance.
Guido
O treacherous love,
Why have you not left a drop for me?
Duchess
No, no, it held but death enough for one.
Guido
Is there no poison still upon your lips,
That I may draw it from them?