[Giving Roger a rose.
Roger. Pure and fragrant as the giver—marry, the blush becomes it not so well; it does not come and go. Martha, thy father and the Governor are in the library. Is that not worth another rose?
Martha. Nay, only a very little one; for when he talks of books he's always loath to come with me.
Roger. Nay, slander him not. But, Martha, books or no books, for two more roses I will bring him here; and, truly, fathers were cheap at three roses apiece. What say you?
Martha. Nay, I'll go myself; but do not think I grudge the roses; here they are. You have not begged of me [To Dimsdell]. May I beg you to accept this? Gentlemen, farewell.
[Exit Martha.
Roger. Roses, and you asked her not!
In love! in love! up to the eyes in love!
She'll drown in love unless you marry her!
Dimsdell. Oh! that I were worthy of her!
Roger. Dost love her, Dimsdell? Ah! she's worthy love.
She's fair and young; of gentle birth and rich;
And warm and pure and spirit-like as flame
That floats above new brandy.
Dimsdell. Out upon thee, satyr! Thou dishonorest her.