Thou art a child: thy malice is a game.
Pierrot.
A most sweet pastime—scandal is its name.
The Lady.
Enough, it wearies me.
Pierrot.
Then, rare Marquise,
Desert the crowd to wander through the trees.
[He bows low, and she curtsies; they move round the stage. When they pass before the Statue he seizes her hand and falls on his knee.]
The Lady.
What wouldst thou now?