[Phania purrs comfortedly, then releases herself]
Pha. How dare you, sir,
Attack me? Who are you?
Alc. I do not know.
Pha. Not know?
Alc. Nothing of self or where I am.
It may be those are trees on giant guard,
And these bright peeping things are flowers' eyes,
And this is happy grass we stand upon,
And that blue watcher is the faithful sky,
But I know naught except my soul is yours,
O, maid-magician, in whose snare I lie
Kissing the net that binds me! [Kissing her fallen curls]
Pha. But you know
Your name!
Alc. Not in this world a minute old
That now I find me in, but in time past
I was Alcanor, Stesilaus' son.
Pha. O!—then—why—all is well! You're noble, sir!
My father will approve you.
Alc. Hast a father?
And art not magic-born? Then I perceive
I must go back and find my earthly wits.
Pha. Nay, he is Pelagon, your father's friend.