Where the volcano smoulders but not dies:
Whose fiery torrent running down has scarr’d
The cheek that time had not so deeply marr’d.
Do not I read thee rightly?
Cipr. But too well;
However come to read me—
Luc. By the light
Of my own darkness reading yours—how deep!
But not, as mine is, irretrievable:
Who from the fulness of my own perdition