Within my halls, shalt thou find love and honour.
The garments which thou sawest are the garments
I gave to him myself: the golden brooch
Of rare device I chose to be his jewel,
On that accursed day when he set forth
For evil Ilion, never to be named.
Ul. O honoured wife of great Laertes’ son,
Waste not thy soul in weeping for thy lord!
Pen. Hath sorrow taught thee, friend, that tears are vain?
Ul. Love’s tokens were not given to man for nought.