Queen. Hope rests there:
Or I were mad.
Cardinal. All men are born to suffer.
What are the consolations of the Scripture,
The fruit of exhortation and of prayer,
If now you quail? No, you shall quail no more.
Queen. My web of life was woven with the nettle.
My very triumphs were bedewed with tears.
What now is left?
Cardinal. Religion. As the sunbow