DECTORA.
What is it that you are muttering—
That you’ll not let me go? I am a queen.
FORGAEL.
Although you are more beautiful than any,
I almost long that it were possible;
But if I were to put you on that ship,
With sailors that were sworn to do your will,
And you had spread a sail for home, a wind
Would rise of a sudden, or a wave so huge,