For she is I, yet lovelier than I,
And hath no temper, sir, and hath no tongue!
Thou hast thy license, make good use of it.
Already I’m half jealous—(draws curtains) There, it’s gone.
The thing is but a statue after all,
And I am safe in leaving thee with her;
Farewell, Pygmalion, till I return. (Kisses him, and exit.)
Pyg. “The thing is but a statue after all!”
Cynisca little thought that in those words
She touched the key-note of my discontent—