RACHEL. No, never will I enter more a ship.
(Taking the KING's arm.)
Permit me, noble Sire, I am so weak!
Pray feel my heart, how fev'rishly it beats!
KING. To fear, is woman's right; but you abuse it.
RACHEL. You now, hard-hearted, take away your aid!
And, oh, these garden walks, how hard they are!
With stones, and not with sand, they're roughly strewn
For men to walk on, not for women's feet.
KING. Put down a carpet, ye, that we have peace.
RACHEL. I feel it well—I merely burden you!
Oh, were my sister only here with me,
For I am sick and tired unto death!
Naught but these pillows here?
(Throwing the pillows in the arbor violently about.)
No, no, no, no!
KING (laughing).