Why, what has passed? So moved I ne’er have seen you.
Rhod.
A hideous thing, a thing that has no name,
For when I come to name it, lo ’tis altered
And looks a deathlier horror than before!
Yea, Spawn of Night, that grins upon my eyes,
Your first-shown face methinks I could have kissed
Now that your second’s bared in doubtful dark.
Lesbia.
Can I do aught for you? The question’s foolish,