Phaon: Yes, yes. But kiss me, Lydia! Take this jewel—my last. Be mine to-night, no other's! We'll prate of Venice another time.
Lydia: Another time we'll prate of kisses. I'll not have the jewel.
Phaon: Not have it! Now you're turning nun! a soft and virgin, silly nun! With a gray gown to hide these shoulders that—shall I whisper it?
Lydia: Devil! they're not! A nice lover called them round and fair last night. And I've been sick! And—I—cruel! cruel! cruel! (Revellers are heard returning.) There, they're coming.
Phaon: Never mind, my girl. But you mustn't scorn a man's blood when it's afire.
Re-enter Revellers singing
Bacchus, hey! was a god, hei-yo! etc.
(After which all go, except Zoe and Basil.
Zoe: O! O! O! but 'tis brave! Wine, Basil! Wine, my knight, my Bacchus! Ho! ho! my god! you wheeze like a cross-bow. Is it years, my wooer, years?—Ah! (She sighs.)
Basil: Sighs—sighs! Now look for showers.
Zoe: Basil—you were my first lover—except the duke Charles. Ah, did you see how that Helena looked when they gave her the duke's command? I was like that once. (Hæmon starts forward.)