What else could grant such joy? Now on my journey
Must I set forth, to be a brigand’s wife ...
That’s but the outward of it, and looks strange:
For, oh, the heart of it is a fire of passion
To lick up trifling life. Away, such dainty stuff:
Let me stand forth myself.—Yet ere I go
I must send Constance word. To whom to trust
My letter? Ah, Philip ...
Enter Philip.
PHILIP.