GUENDOLEN.

Not wolves, but men,
Surely: for beasts are loyal.

LOCRINE.

Guendolen,
What irks thee?

GUENDOLEN.

Nought save grief and love; Locrine,
A grievous love, a loving grief is mine.
Here stands my husband: there my father lies:
I know not if there live in either's eyes
More love, more life of comfort. This our son
Loves me: but is there else left living one
That loves me back as I love?

LOCRINE.

Nay, but how
Has this wild question fired thine heart?

GUENDOLEN.

Not thou!
No part have I--nay, never had I part -
Our child that hears me knows it--in thine heart.