Must sunder us for ever.
Adel. Oh, then fly me!
I am not worth his frown; begone this moment;
Leave me to weep my mournful destiny,
And find some fairer, happier maid, to bless thee.
Theod. Fairer than thee! Oh, heavens! the delicate hand
Of nature, in her daintiest mood, ne'er fashion'd
Beauty so rare. Love's roseate deity,
Fresh from his mother's kiss, breath'd o'er thy mould