Alas, yes! and therein lies the cause of disaster.
Myself bids me go, my calm, reasoning part,
The will is the man, not the poor, foolish heart,
Which is ever at war with the intellect. So
I silence its clamoring voices and go.
Were I less my own master, I then might remain.
Mabel:
Your words are but riddles, I beg you explain.
Roger:
No, no, rather bid me keep silent! To say
Why I go were as weak on my part as to stay.
Mabel:
I think you most cruel! You know, sir, my sex
Loves dearly a secret. Then why should you vex
And torment me in this way by hinting at one?
Roger:
Let us talk of the weather, I think the storm done.
Mabel: