Ione. We disturb you, I fear.
Witch. Tell me, are ye brother and sister?
Ione. No.
Witch. Are ye married?
Glaucus. Not so.
Witch. Ho, lovers! ha! ha! ha!
Glaucus. Why dost thou laugh, old crone?
Witch. Did I laugh?
Glaucus. She is in her dotage.
Witch. Thou liest.
Ione. Hush! Provoke her not, dear Glaucus.
Witch. I will tell thee why I laughed when I discovered ye were lovers. It was because it is a pleasure to the old and withered to look upon young hearts like yours—and to know the time will come when you will loathe each other— loathe—loathe—ha! ha! ha!
Ione. The gods forbid. Yet, poor woman, thou knowest little of love, or thou wouldst know that it never changes.
Witch. Was I young once, think ye? And am I old, and hideous, and deathly now? Such as is the form, so is the heart.
Glaucus. Hast thou dwelt here long?
Witch. Ah, long!—yes.
Glaucus. It is but a drear abode.
Witch. Ha! thou mayst well say that—Hell is beneath us! And I will tell thee a secret — the dim things below are preparing wrath for ye above.
Glaucus. Thou utterest but evil words. In the future, I will brave the tempest rather than thy welcome.
Witch. Thou wilt do well. None should ever seek me, save the wretched!
Glaucus. And why the wretched?
Witch. I am the witch of the mountain; my trade is to give hope to the hopeless; for the crossed in love, I have philtres; for the avaricious, promises of treasure; for the happy and the good, I have only what life has—curses! Trouble me no more.
