Europa. You struck the flint and you shall feel the fire.
I find you as I find the rest of men,
Obtuse, distrustful, flabby, impotent;
Fit to beget a fool or two at home,
And dribble out uncomfortable lives
In parliaments and stalls and smoking-rooms.
It's iron women love—Damascus blades,
Not bludgeons of the theatre stuffed with rags.
Sir T. How often have you said that? Reel-and-rote,
A parrot speech! So all viragoes scold
Since Eve dared Adam. Come; a different tune.
Europa. What? Are you strong, Sir Tristram? Are you strong?
Power in a man I worship: show me power.
Sir T. Go to your room and leave your costume there.
Europa. Give me my clothes, then.
Sir T. No; come back for them.
Europa. But I shall be half naked.
Sir T. What of that?
Europa. Will you attend me to my room?
Sir T. Not I.