I am but studious, so do not stir;
Thou art my star, I thine astronomer!
Geometry was founded on thy lip.
[Kisses her hand.]
The Lady.
This attitude becomes not scholarship!
Thy zeal I praise; but, prithee, not so fast,
Nor leave the rudiments until the last,
Science applied is good, but 'twere a schism
To study such before the catechism.
Bear thee more modestly, while I submit
Some easy problems to confirm thy wit.
Pierrot.
In all humility my mind I pit
Against her problems which would test my wit.
The Lady [questioning him from a little book bound deliciously in vellum].
What is Love?
Is it folly,
Is it mirth, or melancholy?
Joys above,
Are there many, or not any?
What is love?
Pierrot [answering in a very humble attitude of scholarship].
If you please,
A most sweet folly!
Full of mirth and melancholy:
Both of these!
In its sadness worth all gladness,
If you please!