Ard. Murdered? O, not that!
How could you say it? I had forgot, forgot!
Love in your dream looked you quite through the soul
Of Time on things to be? What saw you then?
Ah, tell me!
Ber. Then?... Then came this dimmer light
Which you called morning, and I saw no more.
Ard. I would I knew!
Ber. You fear even now?
Ard. O, me!
Ber. Sweet, leave these shadows—dreams of ancient night
That cling too late upon a day-warm world.
Must I persuade you still that Oswald means
Our happiness?
Ard. Hark you! They come, my lord.
Ber. The sunrise feast. Fit place and time to break
The fast of love.
Ard. O, hear! So many feet!
Ber. Dear trembler, do not fear.