'Tis not so merry going as I thought?
Is't not a little lonely in the woods?
And yet it never seemed so. Will you come
To see me, Roland?
Rol. Do you want me, Glaia?
Gla. O, yes, dear Roland! And you'll bring the boy?
I want to ask if he will be my brother.
Rol. You must not see him. Go and get you ready.
[Exit Glaia]
O, wretched me, to love so frail a thing!