Cha. O, sagest heart!
But here you kept my joy-gates shut so long.
Why such slow mercy, golden one?
Her. You'll hear it?
There is a teasing devil in me, Chartrien,
That must have play.
Cha. Ah, no!
Her. Ay, and an ounce
Or so of cruelty, that would not let
Your frailty go unpinched.
Cha. Nay, 'tis not so!
Her. You'd rather think I put to royal test
Your godship? Wooed with lips so near your own,
And found you stanch to honor? That may be,
But I've a shameless reason dearer still.
I wanted all your love for Hernda,—all.
And had I said too soon that we were one,
Then on your breast my heart had never known
Which maid you clasped.
Cha. You ever, sweet!
Her. Yet she
Is dear. My joy could never be content
Within your heart beside unfaith to her.
She must have room there, not in name of love,
But truth. So you shall hold us both.
Cha. Like this?
Grow to my heart, O garland of myself!
Be breath of me, till, like a double tree,
Root, sap, and bloom are one,
And in our noble fruiting Time forgets
To mourn Hesperides!
Her. Heaven hold thy wish
The prayer thou meanest it!