And happier still Pygmalion, who can gaze
At will upon so beautiful a face!
Pyg. Hush! Galatea—in thine innocence
(Taking glass from her.)
Thou sayest things that others would reprove.
Gal. Indeed, Pygmalion; then it is wrong
To think that one is exquisitely fair?
Pyg. Well, Galatea, it’s a sentiment
That every other woman shares with thee;
They think it—but they keep it to themselves.