Pierrot.
Ah, prithee, what, save thee!
The Lady.
Was this included in thy comedy?
Pierrot.
Ah, mock me not! In vain with quirk and jest
I strive to quench the passion in my breast;
In vain thy blandishments would make me play:
Still I desire far more than I can say.
My knowledge halts, ah, sweet, be piteous,
Instruct me still, while time remains to us,
Be what thou wist, Goddess, moon-maid, Marquise,
So that I gather from thy lips heart's ease,
Nay, I implore thee, think thee how time flies!
The Lady.
Hush! I beseech thee, even now night dies.
Pierrot.
Night, day, are one to me for thy soft sake.