She. No!
He. Will you listen to me?
She. Yes.
He. I don't love that creature——
She. You do.
He. I can't love that creature——
She. You can.
He. Will you listen to me?
She. Yes—
if you'll tell me—
if you'll prove me—
so my last particle of dust—
the tiniest speck of a molecule—
the merest electron——
He. Are you listening?
She. Yes!
He. To begin with—
I dislike, suspect, deplore—
I had best say, feel compassion
for what is called humanity—
or the animate, as opposed to the inanimate——
She. You say that so wisely—
you're such a philosopher—
say it again!
He. That which is able to move
can never be steadfast, you understand?
Let us consider the creature at hand
to whom you have referred
with an undue excess of admiration
adulterated with an undue excess of envy——
She. Say that again!
He. To begin with—
I can only see part of her at once.
She moves into my vision;
she moves out of my vision;
she is doomed to be wayward.
She. Yes, but that which you see of her——
He. Is ugly, commonplace, unsightly.
Her face a rose-face?
It's veined with blood and the skin of it wrinkles—
her eyes are ever so near to a hen's—
her movements,
if one would pay such a gait with regard—
her gait is unspeakably ungainly—
her hair——
She. Her hair?
He. Luckily I've never seen it down—
I dare say it comes down in the dark,
when it looks, most assuredly, like tangled weeds.
She. Again, Manikin, that dulcet phrase!
He. Even were she beautiful,
she were never so beautiful as thou!
She. Now you're a poet, Manikin!