CARIOLA.
Like a madman, with your eyes open?
DUCHESS.
Dost thou think we shall know one another
In the other world?
CARIOLA.
Yes, out of question.
DUCHESS.
O, that it were possible we might
But hold some two days conference with the dead!
From them I should learn somewhat, I am sure,
I never shall know here. I'll tell thee a miracle:
I am not mad yet....
The heaven o'er my head seems made of molten brass.
The earth of flaming sulphur, yet I am not mad.
I am acquainted with sad misery
As the tann'd galley-slave is with his oar....
DUCHESS.
Farewell, Cariola.
I pray thee, look thou giv'st my little boy
Some syrup for his cold, and let the girl
Say her prayers ere she sleep.... Now what you please.
What death?