"It needs no maxims drawn from Socrates
To tell me this is madness in my blood—"
He pauses. She looks up inquiringly. Presently he goes on reading—
"Nor does what wisdom I have learned from these
Serve to abate my most unreasoned mood.
What would I of you? What gift could you bring,
That to await you in the common street
Sets all my secret ecstasy a-wing
Into wild regions of sublime retreat?
And if you come, you will speak common words—"
He stops, and flings the book across the room. She looks up.
GUENEVERE. Don't you like it?
LANCELOT. (gloomily) Hell! That's too true.
GUENEVERE. Try something else.
LANCELOT. No—I can't read. (Guenevere bends to her darning.)
Shall I go?
GUENEVERE. No.
LANCELOT. Do you enjoy seeing me suffer?