Yesterday, lady, you were lovely; to-day, bewitching.
Miss Fitton:
There is more of the man than the woman in me, I think: yet I would this cloak were somewhat longer. [She tries to draw it round her to cover her legs; failing in this she stands up and swings it about her.] There, I am at ease now. Does it set me off?
Shakespeare:
As envious cloud that veils the beauty of Night’s Queen.
Miss Fitton:
[Seating herself and drawing the cloak about her.] I don’t like poetry: it’s not true—sincere. You poets are too much in love with phrases to be honest.
Shakespeare:
When the heart is full we unpack it in song, like the birds.
Miss Fitton: