EL. Is’t possible that thou shouldst grieve for me?
OR. O ruined form! abandoned to disgrace!
EL. ’Tis me you mean, stranger, I feel it now.
OR. Woe ’s me! Untrimmed for bridal, hapless maid!
EL. Why this fixed gaze, O stranger! that deep groan?
OR. How all unknowing was I of mine ill!
EL. What thing hath passed to make it known to thee?
OR. The sight of thee attired with boundless woe.
EL. And yet thine eye sees little of my pain.
OR. Can aught be still more hateful to be seen?