Mod. For what?
Helen. To trust my face so near to thine.
Mod. I know not what you mean.
Helen. I’m glad you don’t!
Cousin, I own right well behaved you are,
Most marvellously well behaved! They’ve bred
You well at college. With another man
My lips would be in danger! Hang the ruff!
Mod. Nay, give it up, nor plague thyself, dear cousin.
Helen. Dear fool! [Throws the ruff on the ground.]
I swear the ruff is good for just
As little as its master! There!—’Tis spoiled—
You’ll have to get another! Hie for it,
And wear it in the fashion of a wisp,
Ere I adjust it for thee! Farewell, cousin!
You’d need to study Ovid’s Art of Love.
[Helen goes out.]
Mod. [Solus.] Went she in anger! I will follow her,—
No, I will not! Heigho! I love my cousin!
O would that she loved me! Why did she taunt me
With backwardness in love? What could she mean?
Sees she I love her, and so laughs at me,
Because I lack the front to woo her? Nay,
I’ll woo her then! Her lips shall be in danger,
When next she trusts them near me! Looked she at me
To-day as never did she look before!
A bold heart, Master Modus! ’Tis a saying
A faint one never won fair lady yet!
I’ll woo my cousin, come what will on’t. Yes:
[Begins reading again, throws down the book.]
Hang Ovid’s Art of Love! I’ll woo my cousin!