Then, scarce your wooer,—soon, your husband: well—
I loved you.
Eu. Hold!
Ch. You knew it, years ago.
When my voice faltered and my eye grew dim
Because you gave me your silk mask to hold—
My voice that greatens when there 's need to curse
The people's Provost to their heart's content,
—My eye, the Provost, who bears all men's eyes,
Banishes now because he cannot bear,—