‘Bosola. Fix your eye here.
Ferdinand. Constantly.
Bosola. Do you not weep?
Other sins only speak; murther shrieks out:
The element of water moistens the earth;
But blood flies upwards, and bedews the heavens.
Ferdinand. Cover her face: mine eyes dazzle; she died young.
Bosola. I think not so: her infelicity
Seem’d to have years too many.
Ferdinand. She and I were twins: