A portent and a terror—soon subside,
Freshen apace, take gold and rainbow hues
In sunshine, sleep in shadow, and at last
Grow common to the earth as hills or trees—
Accepted by all things they came to scare.
Duch. You cannot love, then?
Berth. —Charlemagne, perhaps!
Are you not over-curious in love-lore?
Duch. I have become so, very recently.
It seems, then, I shall best deserve esteem