Nay, I know not what you speak.
The Lady.
Thou dost not, that I see. Thy pearly cheek
Keeps its fair white.
Sweet child, he’s that and more
To me. Ah, let me kneel; thus I implore
That thou wouldst yield him to me—all the right
His boyhood promise gave thee.
The Maiden.
In the sight
Of Heaven we are betrothed; I cannot break
My word.
The Lady.
Oh, not for mine, but for his sake!
He loves me!
The Maiden.
Only madness, that will burn
And die to ashes; but, the fever past,
The old, pure love will steadfastly return
And take its rightful place.