Goneril:

There is too little here. When was it made?


Hygd:

Yester-eve ... Yester-morn ...


Goneril:

Unhappy mother,
You have no daughter to take thought for you--
No servant's love to shame a daughter with,
Though I am shamed--you must have other food,
Straightway I bring you meat ...


Hygd:

It is no use ...
Plenish the cup for me ... Not now, not now,
But in a while; for I am heavy now ...
Old Wynoc's potions loiter in my veins,
And tides of heaviness pour over me
Each time I wake and think. I could sleep now.