CHRISTIAN:
Christian!
ROXANE (disdainfully):
Oh! you?
CHRISTIAN:
I would speak with you.
CYRANO (under the balcony—to Christian):
Good. Speak soft and low.
ROXANE:
No, you speak stupidly!
CHRISTIAN:
Oh, pity me!
ROXANE:
No! you love me no more!
CHRISTIAN (prompted by Cyrano):
You say—Great Heaven!
I love no more?—when—I—love more and more!
ROXANE (who was about to shut the casement, pausing):
Hold! ’tis a trifle better! ay, a trifle!
CHRISTIAN (same play):
Love grew apace, rocked by the anxious beating. . .
Of this poor heart, which the cruel wanton boy. . .
Took for a cradle!