CHRISTIAN.
Roxane!
ROXANE.
Rejoice! What is a love we owe
To passing gifts, to beauty doomed to fade?
It's torture for an eager, noble heart.
My thoughts of you recall no handsome face;
Your beauty that, at first, had captured me,
Now that my eyes are opened, strikes me not.
CHRISTIAN.
Oh!
ROXANE.
Doubt you not what victory is yours!
CHRISTIAN.
Roxane!