Roger. Not enough of it, not enough of it!
Dimsdell. No more, no more! I must not marry.
Roger. Think once again, man; if that thy mind
Can pardon the suggestion—and, mark, I urge it
With all diffidence—there is a way,
Wherein the low opinion thou doth hold
Of thine own virtues—not held by any else—
May wed with beauty all unspeakable,
Raise up a noble lady, and show thy christian
Spirit to the world.
Dimsdell. And what is that?
Roger. Wed Hester Prynne.
Dimsdell. Wed Hester Prynne?
Roger. Aye! 'twas that I said.
She is a paragon—nay, beauty's self.
All other women are but kitchen-maids
Beside her loveliness.
Dimsdell. Wed Hester Prynne!
Roger. I hear her husband left her well to do;
And as for that small blot that sullies her
'Twill fade when covered by thy name.
Dimsdell. Hester Prynne!