Pierrot.
Tell me, Lady, shall I never
Rid me of this grievous burden!
Follow Love and find his guerdon
In no maiden whatsoever?
Wilt thou hold my heart forever?
Rather would I thine forget,
In some earthly Pierrette!
The Lady.
Thus thy fate, what'er thy will is!
Moon-struck child, go seek my traces
Vainly in all mortal faces!
In and out among the lilies,
Court each rural Amaryllis:
Seek the signet of Love's hand
In each courtly Corisande!
Pierrot.
Now, verily, sweet maid, of school I tire;
These answers are not such as I desire.
The Lady.
Why art thou sad?
Pierrot.
I dare not tell.