FULVIA: Whose days,
Whose every moment else had borne a torture.
CHARLES: Now----?
FULVIA: I, perhaps, must go.
CHARLES: Must?--Still I grope.
FULVIA: Must go! Though in this castle's aged calm
And melancholy dusk no shadow is
Or niche but may remember prayer for thee.
CHARLES: To Rome? You must?--I am under a spell.
FULVIA: We, thou and I, after the battle's foam
Or chase's tired return, often have breathed
The passionate deep hours away in rest
And sympathy.