And yet the best of them confide to friends
That 't is not beauty makes the lasting love—
They spend a day with such and tire the next:
They like soul,—well then, they like phantasy,
Novelty even. Let us confess the truth,
Horrible though it be, that prejudice,
Prescription ... curses! they will love a queen.
They will, they do: and will not, does not—he?
Con. How can he? You are wedded: 't is a name
We know, but still a bond. Your rank remains,