Vor. Speak, vassal, speak! my soul defies thy tongue.
Off. Your newly married Queen—
Vor. Speak, what of her?
Off. My lord, she hath ta’en poison, and is dead.
Vor. Nay, shrink not from me now; be not afraid:
There lie, my sword! and with it all my hopes.
Lord. Yet we may hope—
Vor. O! friend, let not thy tongue delude with hope:
Too long against th’ Almighty have I fought.
Hope now is vain—I will hear none on’t.