CALLER
I'm damned if you do! Look here! I don't mind saying, I'm damned if you do.
POET
Calm yourself. Calm yourself. I do not mean in that way.
CALLER
Then what on earth do you mean?
POET
I will make songs about your beautiful death, glad songs and sad songs. They shall be glad because they tell again the noble tradition of the troubadours, and sad because they tell of your sorrowful destiny and of your hopeless love.
I shall make legends also about your lonely bones, telling perhaps how some Arabian men, finding them in the desert by some oasis, memorable in war, wonder who loved them. And then as I read them to her, she weeps perhaps a little, and I read instead of the glory of the soldier, how it overtops our transitory—
CALLER