And hoped and loved? And what are they made now,
But empty phantasies of a broken past?
O Mother, Mother, bring me to my child,
The world is dead, the world is aged and dead.
Cath. My God, my God, Margaret, are you mad?
Marg. My husband! Oh, my husband!
Cath. Gerbhert! What of Gerbhert? Is he dead?
Marg. Aye, dead to me.
Cath. You speak in riddles, daughter.