THE MOTHER'S TRAGEDY 19
CORA.
All is too true—my own philosophy
Mars my world’s wisdom. (Suddenly.) Can you
tell me why
I loved you as a child, and why I dare
Now take your head between my hands and kiss
Your forehead with these shameful lips of mine,
These harlot lips, and kiss you unashamed ?
ULRIC.
Strange are these words, and this emotion strange!
CORA.
Strange is the truth, and deadly as an asp.
ULRIC.
Wear me no more with this anxiety.
CORA.
How can I speak? For this will ruin us.
ULRIC.
Unspoken, I demand thy heart of thee.
CORA.
My heart is broken. This will murder thine.
ULRIC.
Kill, but not torture! Let me know the truth.