Osw. Pale fame!
Have you no blood of mine? How could my fire
Father this sluggish monk? There was a maid
On Kidmir, Charilus' daughter, who has come
In wag of him, which speaks a fearless wench,—
She taught you nothing in those moons you passed
Upon her peaks?
Ber. Sir?
Osw. When I saw her face
Flash from her veil, I could have sworn
Your vow was drowned in her lake-eyes, and that
Her captured softness had made easy way
For royal Berenice. Now you talk
Out of your cowl——
Ber. Not so! I am a knight!
Your words have made me one! Now could I draw
This sword that knows not blood——
Osw. I'll bout with thee
For any woman. Come! Thou'lt be a man
Ere long. Come, sir!
Ber. You've set a foot most foul
Upon the flower of time!
Osw. It seems I've hit
The mark i' the very eye.
Ber. The whitest thought
That holds her first must shrive itself!
Osw. So, so!
Come, end the song. She's yours. 'Tis not the moon
You cry for, take an old man's word.
Ber. The moon
Were nearer to me!