Helena: But ah, the shroud! the shroud!
Antonio: We'll weave no shroud,
But wedding robes and wreaths and pageantry!
And you shall be my Sappho—but through joys
Such as shall legend ecstasy about
Our knitted names when distant lovers dream.
Helena: I'll fear no more, then——
Antonio: Yet?
Helena: My lord, let us
Unloose this strangling secrecy and be
Open in love. My brother, Hæmon, let
Our hearts betrothed exchange and hope be told
Him and thy father!
Antonio: This cannot be—now
Helena: It cannot be, and you a god? I'll bow
Before your eyes no more!—say that it can!
Antonio: Not yet—not now. Hæmon's suspicious, quick,
And melancholy: must be won with service.
And you are Greek, a name till yesterday
I never knew pass in the portal to
My father's ear, but it came out his mouth
Headlong and dark with curses.
Helena: Yet of late
He oft has smiled upon me as he passed.
Antonio: On you—my father? O, he only dreamt,
And saw you not.