THYRSIS: I shall not spill a drop.
[CORYDON drinks, meanwhile beginning to strangle
THYRSIS.]
THYRSIS: Don't pull the string so tight.
CORYDON: You're spilling the water.
THYRSIS: You've had enough—you've had enough—stop pulling The string so tight!
CORYDON: Why, that's not tight at all ... How's this?
THYRSIS: [Drops bowl.] You're strangling me! Oh, Corydon! It's only a game!—and you are strangling me!
CORYDON: It's only a game, is it?—Yet I believe You've poisoned me in earnest! [Writhes and pulls the strings tighter, winding them about THYRSIS' neck.]
THYRSIS: Corydon! [Dies.]
CORYDON: You've poisoned me in earnest. . . . I feel so cold. . . . So cold . . . this is a very silly game. . . . Why do we play it?—let's not play this game A minute more . . . let's make a little song About a lamb. . . . I'm coming over the wall, No matter what you say,—I want to be near you. . . .