Flor.And very pitiful!
Vav. Aye, pitiful indeed, poor prisoned soul! (advancing.)
Flor. “There shalt thou lie,” said he, “till some pure maid
Shall have been constant to thine unseen self
A twelvemonth and a day.” That maid art thou!
Vav. Alas! poor man, I fain would set thee free.
Yet I have loved not thee, but this thy tomb!
Flor. Thou canst not separate me from my tomb
Except by loving me. In loving it
Thou lovest me who am bound up with it;